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THE CAT’S PAW 


By NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN 


THE CAT’S PAW 
THE UNSEEN EAR 
THE THREE STRINGS 
THE MOVING FINGER 
THE NAMELESS MAN 
THE OFFICIAL CHAPERON 
THE LOST DESPATCH 
THE RED SEAL 
I SPY 
C. O. D. 

THE MAN INSIDE 
THE TREVOR CASE 


I * ^ 






t 


•* ♦ , 







DROPPING THE CAT, SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET WITH A SLIGHT CRY. 

[page 27] 





THE CAT’S PAW 


BY 

NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN 

II 

AUTHOR OF "the RED SEAL,” "tHE UNSEEN EAR, 
"the TREVOR CASE,” "tHE MOVING FINGER,” ETC. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK : : 1922 : : LONDON 



COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY \/ 


Copyright, 1922, by Street and Smith 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

SEP 19 1922 71) 

©CI.A683204O ^ 


TO 

EDNA LEIGHTON TYLER 

THIS YARN IS AFFECTION- 
ATELY INSCRIBED IN TOKEN 
OF A FAITHFUL FRIENDSHIP 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

1 . Kitty ! i 

II. The Summons 6 

III. Details 17 

IV. Suicide ? 35 

V. At the Morgue 52 

VI. Testimony 63 

VII. Mrs. Parsons Has Callers ... 79 

VIII. The Case of the Gila Monster . 94 

IX. Mrs. Parsons Asks Questions . . 116 

X. Rumors 127 

XL I. O. U 139 

XII. A Word of Warning 155 

XIII. Bribery 169 

XIV. And Corruption 185 

XV. Bound in Red Tape 203 

XVI. A Startling Encounter . . . 215 

XVII. ‘‘K. B.’’ 223 

XVIII. Elusive Clues 239 

XIX. Suspicion 252 

XX. The Feet of the Furtive . . . 260 

XXI. Mouchette, the Seven-Toed . . 270 

XXII. Greed 287 

vii 




t 


THE CAT’S PAW 


CHAPTER I 
KITTY! 

M ISS SUSAN BAIRD let her gaze rest on 
her companion in speculative silence. 
Apparently, her last jibe had failed of its 
mark, judging from the man’s unchanged expres- 
sion. With a vexed sigh she proceeded to pour out 
another cup of tea. 

They were an oddly matched pair. Miss Baird, 
still erect in spite of her seventy years, her small 
slight figure tucked into one comer of the carved, 
throne-shaped chair which was her habitual seat 
when in her library, appeared dwarfed in compari- 
son with the broad-shouldered, powerfully built man 
who faced her across the tea table. 

“So you wish to marry my niece, Kitty,” she re- 
marked. **Your And she broke into shrill laugh- 
ter. 

I 


The Caf s Paw 


Her companion flushed hotly. Her ridicule cut 
deeper than had any of her previous comments. 

‘'I intend to marry her/’ he answered, and the 
stubborn determination of his tone matched his set 
features. 

“So!” Miss Baird shrugged her thin shoulders. 
“You forget, my friend, that until Kitty is twenty- 
five years of age, I am her legal guardian, and that 
she is absolutely dependent upon me.” 

“You give her a home and let her work that she 
may contribute to your support,” he retorted. 

At his words her eyes blazed in fury and her 
talonlike fingers fumbled in the silver bowl for the 
few pieces of sugar it contained. 

“I am her only blood relation. It is fitting and 
proper that she aid me in my old age,” she ex- 
claimed. “My poverty,” she paused, and a certain 
dignity crept into both voice and manner, “is my 
misfortune.” 

“And Kitty,” he began, but got no further. 

“We will not discuss Kitty,” she announced with 
finality. “Wait,” as he started to interrupt her. 
“Such discussion is totally unnecessary, for Kitty 
will never marry you.” 

“Why not?” 

“For two excellent reasons.” She spoke with de- 
liberation. “Kitty shall not marry a poor man, nor 
shall she marry a man with an hereditary taint.” 

2 


Kitty! 


The man regarded her steadfastly across the table, 
his strong capable hands still holding the peach 
which he had been peeling. The silence length- 
ened, but neither seemed inclined to break it. Sud- 
denly, the man laid down the peach and taking out 
his handkerchief, passed it across his lips ; then, still 
in silence, he picked up the fruit knife, cut the peach 
in two and, placing the fruit in front of Miss Baird, 
rose and left the library. 

In the outer hall he paused long enough to pick 
up his hat and gloves from the table where he had 
placed them upon his arrival some time before. He 
had opened the front door and was about to step 
outside when it occurred to him to light a cigar- 
ette. To do so, he released his hold on the front 
door. His cigarette was just commencing to draw 
nicely when a current of air from an opened win- 
dow across the hall blew the door, which he had 
left ajar, shut with a resounding bang. 

As the noise vibrated through the silent house, 
the man glanced nervously over his shoulder. Evi- 
dently, it had not disturbed Miss Baird or the other 
inmates of her household, for no one appeared in 
the hall. He once more started to approach the 
front door when he heard, through the portieres in 
front of the entrance to the library. Miss Baird's 
voice raised in anger. 


3 


The Cats Paw 


^‘Kitty!’^ she called. “Kitty!” 

As the name echoed through the silent hall, it 
gave place to a scream of such intensity, such horror 
that the man drew back aghast. It was some min- 
utes before he moved. With faltering footsteps he 
retraced his way into the library and paused by the 
tea table. 

Miss Susan Baird still sat in her throne-shaped 
chair, but the light fell full on her glazing eyes and 
distorted features. 

Slowly, reluctantly, the man bent nearer and 
forced himself to place his hand upon her wrist. 
He could feel no pulse. When he stood erect a mo- 
ment later, his forehead was beaded with perspira- 
tion. Dazedly, he glanced about the library — ^he 
and the dead woman were its only occupants. 

Again he compelled himself to gaze at her, and 
subconsciously took note of her poor and patched 
attire. The incongruity of her string of pearls and 
the diamond rings upon her fingers impressed him 
even in the presence of death. 

Step by step he retreated backward across the 
room, his glance roaming upward toward the gal- 
lery which circled the library and the short stair- 
case leading to it, but always his eyes returned to 
that still and lonely figure by the tea table. 

A few minutes later the faint sound of the front 
door being closed disturbed a large ball of fur. A 
4 


Kittyl 


gray Angora cat jumped from its hiding place and, 
with its back arched in fright, scampered through 
the portieres, and fled along the hall and up the 
staircase to the attic. 


CHAPTER II 


THE SUMMONS 

HE broad streets of Washington City pre- 



sented a lively scene as Dr. Leonard Mc- 


Lean drove his car with increasing slowness 
down Connecticut Avenue, crowded with govern- 
ment employees hastening to their offices. The con- 
gestion was even greater than usual owing to the 
downpour of rain as the drenched pedestrians 
swarmed around the street car stops in their en- 
deavor to board cars, already packed to their limit, 
and arrive promptly at nine o’clock at their various 
destinations. 

McLean slowed down to a stop within the fifteen 
feet limit prescribed by law, as the street car ahead 
of him halted to take on passengers, and watched 
with interest the futile efforts of the conductor to 
prevent the desperate rush made by both men and 
women to get through the car door at the same time. 
Suddenly, McLean discerned a familiar face in the 


6 


The Summons 


crowd before him and sounded his horn. The un- 
expected “honk’’ created confusion among those 
unable to find even clinging room, and the conductor, 
taking advantage of the diversion, signaled to the 
motorman and the car sped onward. 

“Hey, Leigh!” hailed McLean. “Leigh Wallace!” 

Major Wallace glanced around and with a wave 
of his hand McLean indicated the vacant seat in his 
roadster. 

“Hop in !” he exclaimed, as Wallace hurried 
across the intervening space between the car and the 
curbstone. “I’ll give you a lift downtown,” and, 
hardly waiting for Wallace to seat himself and close 
the door, the busy surgeon released the clutch and 
the roadster sped down Connecticut Avenue. 

It was not until they were clear of traffic and were 
approaching the intersection of Twenty-first Street 
and Massachusetts Avenue that McLean realized 
his companion had not returned his greeting or ad- 
dressed a word to him since entering the car. Turn- 
ing his head, he eyed him unobtrusively. Wallace 
sat moodily staring ahead; his big frame, slumped 
in the easiest posture, seemed to fill the broad seat 
of the Packard. McLean took silent note of 
Wallace’s expression and the unhealthy pallor of his 
skin. 

“Get any sleep last night?” he asked. 

“Not much.” Wallace drew out a leather wallet 

7 


The Cafs Paw 


from an inside pocket and produced a prescription. 
‘The druggist refused to fill this again; said I had 
to get another prescription. Beastly rot,” he com- 
plained. “Cost me a bad night.” 

The surgeon ran his eye over the prescription be- 
fore pocketing it. 

“It’s a narcotic,” he explained. “The druggists are 
not allowed to refill. Next time you want one come 
to me. How long is it since you left Walter Reed 
Hospital, Leigh?” 

“Two months ago,” was the laconic rejoinder. 
Wallace removed his hat and passed his hand over 
his short-clipped hair. “I hope to report for duty 
soon.” 

“Good !” McLean slowed down to make the turn 
from Twenty-first Street into Massachusetts Avenue 
and as they drove westward Major Wallace for the 
first time took notice of the direction in which they 
were heading and that they were no longer on Con- 
necticut Avenue. 

“Aren’t you going to your office, McLean?” he 
inquired. 

“Not immediately. I have a professional call to 
make first. Are you in a hurry?” 

The question seemed superfluous and McLean 
smiled as he put it. The major’s apathetic manner 
and relaxed figure could not be associated with 
haste. 


8 


The Summons 


“No/’ Wallace answered. “I promised to stop 
in and see Charles Craige some time this morning; 
he’s attending to some legal business for me. Other- 
wise I have nothing to do. This killing time gets 
on my nerves — look at that, now,” and he held up a 
hand that was not quite steady. “Take me on as 
chauffeur, McLean. I understand an engine; shell- 
shock hasn’t knocked that out of my head.” 

“Your head’s all right, old man. I told you that 
when you were my patient at Walter Reed,” re- 
sponded McLean cheerily. “A few weeks more 
and — ” He stopped speaking as they crossed the Q 
Street bridge into Georgetown, then, stepping on the 
accelerator, he raced the car up the steeply graded 
street and drew up in front of a high terrace. 

“Hello, are you going to ‘Rose Hill’ ?” demanded 
Wallace, wakened from his lethargy by the stopping 
of the car. He had apparently been unaware that 
McLean had left his last sentence unfinished. “Who 
is ill?” 

“I don’t know.” McLean leaned back to pick up 
his instrument bag which he carried in the compart- 
ment behind his seat. “My servant called to me 
just as I was leaving home that I had been telephoned 
to come over here at once. I didn’t catch all she 
said. I suppose Kitty Baird is ill. That girl is a 
bundle of nerves.” 

Wallace clambered out of the car so that his more 

9 


The Cat's Paw 


nimble companion would not have to climb over his 
long legs in getting out. As McLean turned to close 
the door of his car, Wallace’s hand descended 
heavily upon his shoulder. 

“What — who — ^who’s that standing in the Baird’s 
doorway?” he gasped. “A policeman?” 

McLean swung around and glanced up at the 
house. A long flight of stone steps led up to the 
front door and a landing marked each break in the 
terrace whereon grew rosebushes. It was the pic- 
turesque garden which gave its name to the fine old 
mansion — Rose Hill. The mansion had been built 
in colonial times when the surrounding land, on 
which stood modern houses and the present-day 
streets, had been part of the “plantation” owned by 
General Josiah Baird of Revolutionary fame. The 
hand of progress had left the mansion perched high 
above the graded street, but it had not touched its 
fine air of repose, nor diminished the beauty of its 
classic Greek architecture. 

Standing under the fanlight over the doorway 
was the burly form of a blue-coated policeman. 

“Yes, that’s one of the ‘City’s finest,’ ” he laughed. 
“What of it?” he added, observing his companion’s 
agitation in astonishment. “The policeman is prob- 
ably taking the census ; one called on me last Satur- 
day.” 


10 


The Summons 


Wallace swallowed hard. “That's it,” he mum- 
bled, rather than spoke. “You've hit it.” 

McLean, conscious of the bleak wind which ac- 
companied the driving rain, stopped to open the 
door of his roadster. 

“Wait in the car, Leigh; I won't be long.” Not 
pausing to see if his suggestion was followed, Mc- 
Lean hurried up the steps. 

Wallace plucked at the collar of his overcoat and 
opened it with nervous fingers, mechanically closed 
the car door, and then with slow reluctant feet fol- 
lowed McLean toward the mansion. He was breath- 
ing heavily when he gained the surgeon's side, and 
the latter's surprised exclamation at sight of him 
was checked by the policeman who had advanced a 
few steps to meet the two men. 

“Dr. McLean?” he asked, and as the surgeon 
nodded, added, “Step inside. Sir.” He touched his 
hat respectfully. “Is this gentleman with you. 
Doctor ?” 

“Why, certainly.” McLean glanced inquiringly 
at the policeman ; the latter's manner indicated sup- 
pressed excitement. “What's to pay, Officer?” 

“They'll tell you inside,” waving his hand toward 
the open door. “The coroner's there.” 

“Coroner!” McLean's bag nearly slipped from 
his hand ; but before he could question the policeman 
further, his name was called from the back of the 


II 


The Cats Paw 


hall and he hurried inside the house. Coroner Pen- 
field stood by the portieres in front of the library 
door. 

am glad you could get here so promptly, Mc- 
Lean,” he said. ‘‘Come in,” and he drew the por- 
tieres to one side. McLean entered the library hastily 
and continued to advance with his usual brisk tread 
until he caught sight of a huddled figure in the 
throne-shaped chair. 

“Good God!” he ejaculated and retreated a few 
steps. Recovering his usual calm poise he walked 
around the tea table and examined the body. When 
he straightened up and turned around, he found 
Coroner Penfield’s attention was centered on Major 
Leigh Wallace. 

Wallace had followed McLean across the thres- 
hold of the library only, and stood with his back 
braced against the doorjamb while his eyes mutely 
scrutinized every movement made by the surgeon. 

“Well?” he questioned, and McLean’s stare grew 
intensified. If he had not seen Wallace’s lips move 
he would never have recognized his voice. With 
difficulty Wallace enunciated his words. “Well — 
what — what is it?” 

“It’s a case of — ” 

“Sudden death.” Coroner Penfield completed 
McLean’s sentence. 

In the silence that followed, a man who had been 


12 


The Summons 


leaning over the railing of the gallery which circled 
the library, watching them, walked over to the stairs 
and came slowly down. At sound of his footsteps 
McLean glanced up and recognized Inspector 
Mitchell of the Central Office. He bowed court- 
eously to the surgeon before addressing the coroner. 

'‘If it is all right. Dr. Penfield, we’ll have the body 
removed,” he said. “My men are here.” 

“Certainly. Call them.” Penfield turned to Mc- 
Lean. “I wanted you to be present as I understand 
you attended Miss Susan Baird.” 

“Yes, I have been her family physician for years.” 
McLean spoke with an effort, his thoughts centered 
on one idea. “Where is Miss Baird’s niece. Miss 
Kitty Baird?” 

His question went unanswered. Apparently 
Coroner Penfield and Inspector Mitchell failed to 
hear him as they busied themselves in superintend- 
ing the removal of the body. McLean, after watch- 
ing them for some seconds, walked over to Wallace. 
The latter took no notice of him whatever, his eyes 
remaining always on the tea table. McLean scanned 
his drawn face and listened to his labored breathing 
with growing concern. Whirling around, he opened 
his bag, took out a flask, detached its silver cup and 
poured out a liberal allowance of whisky, then, dart- 
ing out of the library, he returned an instant later 
with some water in a glass. Slightly diluting the 

13 


The Caf s Taw 

whisky, he thrust the cup against Wallace’s white 
lips. 

“Drink that,” he ordered, and Wallace followed 
his peremptory command. “Now, sit down,” and 
he half-pushed, half -supported him to a large leather 
covered lounge. 

“I — I,” protested Wallace. “Fm a bit undone, 
McLean,” and he raised miserable, apologetic eyes 
to his friend. 

“Sure, it’s enough to bowl any one over,” McLean 
acknowledged, with a sympathetic pat. “Even the 
strongest — ” 

“Which I am not,” supplemented Wallace. The 
powerful stimulant was taking effect, and he spoke 
with more composure. “Have you — can you — ” he 
hesitated, and cast a sidelong glance at McLean. 
“Can you learn any details about Miss Baird and 
how she came to be lying in that chair ?” It was im- 
possible for him to suppress a shudder as he indi- 
cated the empty throne-shaped chair. “She was 
dead, wasn’t she?” 

“As dead as a door nail.” His question was an- 
swered by Inspector Mitchell, who had returned in 
time to catch their last few remarks. “Can you 
give me any facts about Miss Baird, Doctor Mc- 
Lean ?” 

“Only that she was a lifelong resident of George- 
town and a well-known character — known for her 
14 


The Summons 


eccentricities, that is,^’ responded McLean. “Her 
death has come as a great shock to Major Wallace 
and to me, Inspector.” 

“When did you see her last?” inquired Mitchell. 
His question was addressed to both men, but it was 
McLean who answered it after a moment’s thought. 

“She was in my office on Friday.” 

“Was she ill?” 

“No. For a woman of her age she was remark- 
ably free from organic trouble,” replied McLean. 
“In fact, she did not come to consult me about her- 
self at all, but to ask for a tonic for her niece. By 
the way, where is Miss Kitty Baird ?” 

At the question Wallace raised his head and eyed 
the surgeon intently for a second, then dropped his 
eyes as the other felt his gaze and turned toward 
him. 

“Where is Miss Kitty Baird ?” Mitchell repeated 
the surgeon’s question. “Blessed if I know.” 

“What!” McLean started from the chair where 
he had seated himself a moment before. “Do you 
mean to say that Miss Kitty Baird is not in her 
bedroom ?” 

“I do.” Mitchell shook a puzzled head. “And 
she isn’t in any part of the house. My men and I 
have searched it thoroughly. We found only the 
dead woman in the house and a live Angora cat.” 

McLean stared at the inspector in dumbfounded 
IS 


The Cat's Paw 


amazement. A gurgling sound from the sofa caused 
him to look at Wallace. The major, with purpling 
face, was struggling to undo his collar. 

‘‘Air! Air!’’ he gasped, and before the surgeon 
could spring to his aid, he sank back unconscious 
against the sofa pillows. 


CHAPTER III 


DETAILS 

I NSPECTOR Mitchell and Dr. McLean watched 
the taxicab, in which rode Major Leigh Wal- 
lace and Coroner Penfield, until it passed out 
of sight on its way to Washington, before reentering 
the Baird mansion. 

‘^Major Wallace seems in bad shape,’’ commented 
Mitchell, as they crossed the hall toward the library. 
'T though you would never bring him back to con- 
sciousness, Doctor.” 

‘'This library wasn’t a pleasant sight for well man 
to encounter, Mitchell, let alone a man in the major’s 
condition,” replied McLean. “The results of shell- 
shock do not exactly prepare a man for this — ” and 
with a wave of his hand the surgeon indicated the 
tea table and the throne-shaped chair where Miss 
Baird’s body had lain on their entrance three quar- 
ters of an hour before. 

“Eh, yes ; but I should have thought the major’s 

17 


The Caf s Paw 


experiences overseas would have accustomed him to 
gruesome scenes/’ Mitchell paused in front of 
the portieres and adjusted them carefully so that 
they completely covered the doorway. 

‘‘Walking into a room and finding a friend lying 
dead is a shock, regardless of any past experience/’ 
responded McLean dryly. 

“Did Major Wallace know Miss Baird well?” 
inquired Mitchell. 

“Know her well?” repeated McLean. “Yes, and 
her niece, Kitty Baird, even better, if rumor speaks 
truly.” 

A certain inflection in the surgeon’s voice caused 
Mitchell to eye him sharply, but McLean’s attention 
was entirely centered on the tea table before which 
he was standing, and he appeared unaware of the 
inspector’s scrutiny. 

“Exactly what do you mean. Doctor?” asked the 
latter. “Your words would imply — ” 

“Nothing — except that rumor has it that Leigh 
Wallace and Kitty Baird are engaged to be mar- 
ried.” McLean balanced one hand on a chair and 
tipped it back and forth. 

“And what is your personal opinion, Doctor?” 
asked Mitchell shrewdly. 

McLean hesitated. “I am not quite so certain,” 
he admitted. “Three months ago I believed Wallace 
and Kitty were engaged; then — ” 

i8 


Details 


“Yes? — as McLean paused once more in his 
speech. 

“Then Kitty met Edward Rodgers of San Fran- 
cisco/* McLean smiled. “It*s a toss-up which man 
wins.** 

“So.** The inspector considered a moment. “So 
Miss Baird is still willing to take a chance on mar- 
rying Major Wallace, is she?** 

“What d*ye mean?** McLean’s abstracted man- 
ner disappeared instantly. 

“Well, I wouldn*t exactly like my daughter to 
marry him,** retorted Mitchell. “Not after seeing 
his condition here to-day. I haven’t much medical 
knowledge — ” 

“Quite so.” The surgeon’s dry tone caused 
Mitchell to redden. “I can assure you, Mitchell, that 
Major Wallace’s ill-health is but temporary.” 

“Is it?” Mitchell eyed him reflectively, then as 
an idea occurred to him his expression altered. “By 
Jove! Perhaps it wasn’t the sight of Miss Baird 
lying there dead which knocked him out, but the 
absence of her niece. Miss Kitty Baird.” 

McLean let the chair, which he had been balanc- 
ing on two legs, go slowly back to its proper posi- 
tion. 

“It is just possible that you are right,” he agreed. 
“Kitty Baird’s absence has alarmed me also.” 

“Is that so? You kept mighty calm about it,” 

19 


The Cafs Paw 


grumbled Mitchell. McLean was not evincing much 
interest. “Possibly you don't realize that Miss 
Baird did not die a natural death." 

McLean smiled ironically. “You pay me a poor 
compliment," he said. “I only made a superficial 
examination of her body, but it assured me that 
a — " he hesitated for a brief second, “that a tragedy 
had occurred." 

“Tragedy!" In fine scorn. “Why mince words ? 
Say murder." 

“No." McLean spoke with provoking delibera- 
tion. “Suicide." 

“Suicide!" echoed the inspector. “Bah! Look 
at this room." 

Obediently McLean glanced about the library. It 
was a large room, almost square in shape, two 
stories in height with an arched roof containing a 
stained glass skylight. It was paneled in Flemish 
oak; and oak bookcases, with sliding glass doors, 
filled most of the wall space, while a gallery, on a 
level with the second story, circled the library. Ac- 
cess to the gallery was gained from the library by a 
flight of circular steps near the huge brick chimney 
which stood at the farther end of the room. Book- 
cases, similar in type to those on the main floor of 
the library, were in the gallery, and McLean scarcely 
glanced upward; instead, his eyes roved over the 
worn furniture with its shabby upholstery, the faded 
20 


I 


Derails 


rugs on the hardwood floor, until finally his gaze 
rested on the tea table. Given to observation of little 
things, he noticed the spotless condition of the tea 
cloth and the neat dams in one corner. Inspector 
Mitchell observed his silent contemplation of the 
tea table. 

‘'Evidently Miss Baird was enjoying a cup of 
tea,” he remarked. “See, her cup is half full.” 

“Have you analyzed its contents?” asked Mc- 
Lean. 

“Not yet.” Mitchell moved impatiently. “Give 
us time. Doctor. It won’t take long to locate the 
criminal. He is sure to have left a clue behind 
him among the tea things.” 

“You will insist on murder!” McLean shrugged 
his shoulders. “I see only one cup of tea,” pointing 
to the table. “A teapot — is it empty?” He stretched 
out his hand to pick it up, but Mitchell checked him 
with an imperative gesture. 

“Don’t handle anything. Sir,” he cautioned. “We 
are making tests for finger prints.” 

“Quite right.” McLean’s hand dropped to his 
side, “Well, murder presupposes the presence of 
some one beside the victim. I see only one teacup, 
one plate with two sandwiches and a piece of cake, 
another plate with a half-eaten peach. Not a very 
bountiful repast. Now, while Miss Baird was poor, 
she was hospitable, inspector ; had any one been here, 
21 


The Caf s Paw 


her visitor would have been provided with a cup 
of tea at least.” 

'Terhaps — but suppose she wasn’t aware of the, 
er, visitor’s presence?” asked Mitchell. 

McLean eyed him in silence for a second. “Have 
you found any indication of another’s presence?” 
he questioned. “Any clues?” 

“Nothing worth mentioning now,” responded 
Mitchell, evasively. “Can you give me the name of 
an intimate friend to whom Miss Baird may have 
gone ?” 

“Why, certainly; there’s — let me see — ” McLean 
pulled himself up short. Who were Kitty Baird’s 
intimate friends — her girl friends? He could enu- 
merate dozens of men whose admiration for her was 
sincere and unconcealed, but when it came to the 
girls in their set — pshaw ! women were cats ! Kitty’s 
popularity had not endeared her to her own sex. 

“You might try Mrs. Amos Parsons,” he sug- 
gested, and pointed to the telephone table in a comer 
of the library. “Kitty is her private secretary. No, 
wait,” as Mitchell snatched up the telephone book 
and hastily turned its well-thumbed pages. “She 
may be with her cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Ben Potter. 
Here, I’ll look up their number for you.” 

Mitchell hung up the receiver in disgust a minute 
later. “Central declares no one answers,” he ex- 
plained. “Who shall we try next? Mrs. Parsons, 
22 


Details 


did you say?” This time he was more successful 
ii>' getting the number desired, but the reply to his 
question was unsatisfactory. ‘The butler declares 
Miss Baird hasn^t been there since yesterday,” he 
told his companion. “Mrs. Parsons is not at home.” 

McLean’s expression had grown serious. “We 
had better communicate with Charles Craige,” he 
said. “Craige has handled Miss Baird’s affairs for 
years, lawyer, agent, and all that. He may aid us in 
locating Kitty.” Then with a touch of impatience, 
“Don’t stop to look up the number of his law office— 
if is Main 3300.” 

As Inspector Mitchell turned again to the tele- 
phone, McLean rose and slowly paced back and forth 
the length of the library. His familiarity with the 
furnishings and the contents of the bookcases — ^his 
taste in literature having coincided with that of Col- 
onel Baird, who spent the last years of his life 
squandering a depleted fortune to gratify his crav- 
ing as a collector— caused him to pay little attention 
to his surroundings, and he walked with head bent, 
his thoughts with the dead woman upstairs. 

Was Inspector Mitchell right — could it have been 
murder ? Who would have reason to harm so feeble 
an old lady ? What motive could have inspired such 
a senseless crime? Robbery — bah, thieves would 
not kill to secure books and knickknacks of doubtful 
value. 


23 


The Cat's Taw 


But then what motive could have prompted sui- 
cide ? Why should a woman so near the grave take 
her own life? Miss Baird had abhorred illness in 
any form ; she had always had a healthy distaste for 
invalidism, and little patience with neurotic friends. 

Miss Susan Baird, of all persons, to be found 
dead — possibly murdered! McLean took out his 
handkerchief and passed it over his forehead. For 
the first time he grew conscious of the closeness of 
the atmosphere, of the musty smell which dampness 
sometimes engenders. Instinctively, he stopped in 
front of a side door which opened on a ‘‘stoop” lead- 
ing to the garden which extended to the back of the 
house. The door resisted his attempts to open it, 
and he felt for the key. It was not in the lock. 

McLean stared at the door in some surprise. It 
was the only one in the house fitted with a modern 
lock, and it had always been Miss Baird’s custom to 
leave the key in the lock. The locks of the other 
doors were hand-wrought before the Revolution 
and massive in size. It had been Miss Baird’s fad 
never to have them modernized. One of her few 
extravagances, if it could be called such, had been to 
employ a grandson of old “Oscar,” their colored 
factotum, to keep the copper highly burnished and 
shining with its old-time, slave-day luster. The 
great fireplaces were lined with copper and Miss 
Baird was never happier than when able to contem- 
24 


Details 

plate her grotesque reflection in the walls of the fire- 
place in her library. 

McLean had been a frequent visitor at the Baird 
mansion, but never before had he seen the key re- 
moved from the side door of the library. With a 
puzzled frown he reached up and pulled back the 
copper latch which released the upper half of the 
door — built in the style of the ‘‘Dutch’’ door — and 
pulled it back. The fresh air, laden as it was with 
dampness, was refreshing. The rain had slackened, 
and seeing there was no danger of it splashing in- 
side the library, he pulled the half door still further 
open. Turning about, he found Inspector Mitchell 
at his elbow. 

‘T caught Mr. Craige,” he announced. “He is 
coming right over.” Then with a complete change 
of tone. “How did you open the upper half of this 
door?” 

“By pushing the catch, so — ” and McLean de- 
monstrated. 

“Hump!” Inspector Mitchell moved the catch 
back and forth. “I see, there’s a knack about it; it 
baffled me when I tried to open it. I have the key 
of the lower door,” and he drew it out of his pocket. 
' “Why did you take it out of the lock?” 

“Because — ” Inspector Mitchell’s answer was in- 
terrupted by the sudden rush of feet across the 
outer hall. The portieres were thrust aside and 
25 


The Cats Paw 


a girl dashed into the library followed by a man. 

Utterly oblivious of the inspector’s presence, she 
sped across the room to McLean. 

‘‘Oh, Doctor, is it true ?” she gasped, incoherently. 
“Is Aunt Susan — ^has she — ” She faltered and Mc- 
Lean caught her outstretched hands and drew her 
into a chair. 

“Yes,” he said, and his quiet, controlled tone 
brought some measure of relief to the overwrought 
girl. “Your aunt is dead.” 

Kitty Baird’s head dropped forward and rested on 
her cupped hands, and tears forced their way 
through her fingers. At the sound of her weeping, 
a seven-toed Angora cat stole out from behind a 
piece of furniture and pattered across the floor. 
With a flying leap she seated herself in Kitty’s lap 
and brushed her head against the girl’s hands. Kitty 
looked down, caught the soft body in her arms and 
held the cat tightly to her. 

“Mouchette, Mouchette,” she moaned. “Aunty’s 
gone — gone,” and she buried her face in the long 
fur. Gradually, her sobs grew less, and McLean, 
observing that she was regaining some hold on her 
composure, withdrew to the other end of the library 
where Inspector Mitchell was holding a low-toned 
conversation with Charles Craige. 

“I am glad you are here, Craige,” McLean said, 
26 


Details 

keeping his voice lowered. 'This is the devil of a 
mess.” 

The lawyer’s handsome face expressed grave 
concern. "So I judge from what Inspector Mitchell 
told :ne on the telephone and what he has just said.” 
He moved so as to catch a better view of the library. 
"Where have you taken Miss Baird?” 

"To her bedroom,” replied Mitchell. "The au- 
topsy will be held this afternoon probably.” 

He had not troubled to lower his rather strident 
voice and his words reached Kitty’s ears. Dropping 
the cat, she sprang to her feet with a slight cry. 

"Autopsy?” she exclaimed. "No, not that!” And 
she put up her hand as if to ward off a blow. 

"Why not?” demanded Mitchell, and as Kitty 
hesitated, McLean spoke quickly. 

"It is customary in cases of sudden death, Kitty, 
to hold autopsies,” he explained. "Your aunt was 
found dead in this room — ” 

"Here !” Kitty looked about with a shudder. "I 
did not realize — Mr. Craige only told me — we met at 
the door,” she pulled herself up short, waited a mo- 
ment, then continued with more composure. "I 
understood that aunty had died suddenly. It has 
been a great shock,” she looked piteously from one 
to the other. "I have lived with aunty ever since I 
can remember — and now to be without her!” She 
again paused to steady her voice. "Oh, it seems im- 
27 


The Cat’s Paw 

possible that she is dead; she was so alive — so 
anxious to live/* 

Inspector Mitchell cocked an eager eye at Mc- 
Lean. 

‘So she wanted to live, Miss,** he commented. 
“Never expressed any wish to end her life, did she, 
Miss Baird?** 

“Never!** Kitty stared at him in astonishment. 
“What put such an idea into your head ?** 

“It wasn*t ever in my head,** Mitchell retorted. 
“Dr. McLean is responsible for the theory.** 

Kitty turned and looked directly at McLean. 
Tears were still very near the deep blue eyes, and 
her cheeks had lost their wonted color, but as she 
faced the three men they were conscious of her 
beauty. Slightly above medium height, she looked 
taller owing to her straight and graceful carriage. 
McLean sighed involuntarily. He dreaded a scene. 

“Why, Doctor, what made you think Aunt Susan 
wished to die?’* Kitty’s voice rose. “You told me 
only last week that she was in excellent health/* 

“So I did.” McLean spoke in haste. “Your 
aunt was in good health, Kitty; but, eh, the circum- 
stances of her death — ** 

Kitty’s eyes widened. “The circumstances of her 
death,” she repeated slowly, and paused as if seek- 
ing a word, “were they not — natural?” 

“No, Miss Baird, they were not,” broke in In- 
28 


Details 


spector Mitchell, anxious to have the floor. "We 
found your aunt dead in this library about two hours 
ago. Dr. McLean examined her body; he can tell 
you from what she died.’’ 

Kitty looked in mute question at McLean while 
her trembling hands plucked aimlessly at her damp 
handkerchief. The surgeon impulsively put his arm 
about her shoulder before speaking. 

"Your aunt died from a dose of poison,” he stated 
slowly. 

"Poison!” Kitty reeled and but for McLean’s 
strong arm would have fallen. Dumbly, she stared 
at the three men. "Aunt Susan poisoned! By 
whom ?” 

"We do not know that — ^yet,” replied Mitchell, 
and the tone of his voice chilled Kitty. It was some 
seconds before she could speak. 

"What poisoned her?” she asked. 

"The exact nature of the poison will be deter- 
mined by the autopsy,” broke in McLean. "The 
coroner’s examination of the body and mine were 
superficial, but it did establish the fact that your 
aunt had swallowed poison.” He caught the terror 
which flashed into Kitty’s eyes, and added impul- 
sively, "Miss Baird, in a moment of insanity, may 
have committed suicide.” 

"There you go again. Doctor.” Mitchell laughed 
29 


The Caf s Taw 

shortly. “Now, Miss Baird, where did you spend 
last night?” 

“With my cousin, Nina Potter, and her husband, 
at their apartment in Sixteenth Street,” Kitty spoke 
mechanically. Turning about she walked stiffly over 
to a chair and sank into it. She wondered if her 
companions were aware of her trembling knees. 

“Kitty,” Charles Craige’s charmingly modulated 
voice sounded soothingly to her overwrought nerves. 
“I would have prepared you for this had I known,” 
he hesitated, “these details. But Inspector Mitchell 
only telephoned to me that your aunt was dead, and 
it was not until we both came in that I learned, as 
you have, of the tragedy. I grieve with you, dear 
child; your aunt was my good friend for many 
years.” 

Kitty looked up at him gratefully. She was very 
fond of her handsome godfather. “Thank youj” 
she murmured. “I feel stunned.” She pressed her 
fingers against her temples. “Oh, poor aunty — to 
die here alone ! Why, why didn^t I get up early and 
come here at once without waiting for breakfast? 
I might have saved her.” 

McLean moved uneasily and exchanged glances 
with Mitchell. 

“Don’t reproach yourself, Kitty,” he begged. 
“Your presence here this morning would not have 
saved your aunt,” and as she looked at him in aston- 

30 


Details 


ishment, he added more slowly, judging from the 
condition of the body, your aunt died fully twenty 
hours ago/’ 

Charles Craig broke the silence. ‘Twenty hours 
ago,” he repeated. ‘That would be yesterday — ” 

“Sunday afternoon, to be exact,” stated Inspector 
Mitchell. “When did you leave here. Miss Baird?” 

“Yesterday afternoon, about three o’clock; no, 
nearly four,” Kitty corrected herself with a haste 
not lost upon the inspector. 

“And when did you last see your aunt alive?” 
he questioned. 

“About that time.” Kitty’s foot tapped restlessly 
against the rug. “She was in her bedroom, and I 
called to her as I went down the staircase.” 

“What did you say to her?” Mitchell was taking 
mental note of Kitty’s well-groomed appearance 
and her nervous handling of her handkerchief. 

“I told her not to sit up late.” Kitty did not meet 
the inspector’s eyes. “Aunt Susan seldom went to 
bed before one or two o’clock in the morning; she 
claimed it rested her to sit up and read in the library.” 

“Were the servants here when you left the 
house?” asked Mitchell. 

“Servants ?” A ghost of a smile touched Kitty’s 
lips. “Aunty would not employ any one but old 
Oscar. He never comes until about seven in the 
morning, and leaves immediately after dinner.” 

31 


The Cat's Paw 


“And was it your custom to leave your aunt alone 
in the house at night?” Mitchell was blind to the 
heavy frown with which McLean listened to his 
continued questioning of Kitty. The surgeon 
guessed the tension she was under and dreaded a 
breakdown. 

“Occasionally, yes.” Observing Mitcheirs ex- 
pression, Kitty added hastily, “Why not? Aunt 
Susan feared no one.” 

^‘And she was murdered.” Inspector Mitchell 
eyed her keenly; then glanced at his companions — 
both men were watching Kitty. 

“Or killed herself — ” Kitty spoke with an effort. 
“How did you learn of my aunt's death?” 

Inspector Mitchell seemed not to hear the ques- 
tion and Kitty repeated it more peremptorily. 

“We received a telephone message, at Headquar- 
ters,” he stated finally. “I was in the office at the 
time and came over to investigate.” He paused 
dramatically. “We found your aunt sitting dead in 
that chair.” He walked over and touched the 
throne-shaped chair, Kitty did not follow him ex- 
cept with her eyes. 

“How did you get in?” asked Craige, walking 
toward him. 

“We found the key of the front door in the lock 
on the outside/* replied Mitchell. 

“What !” Kitty sprang to her feet. 

32 


Details 

“Odd, wasn’t it?’’ Mitchell was watching her 
closely. 

'"Very/' briefly. Kitty paused in thought. ‘‘What 
was the nature of the message you received over the 
telephone, Inspector ?’* 

“To come at once to ‘Rose Hill,’ ” Mitchell spoke 
with impressiveness. “That a crime had been com- 
mitted.” 

“Good heavens !” Kitty took a step in his direc- 
tion, but before she could speak again, Mitchell held 
up his hand for silence. 

“Did I understand, Miss Baird, that you and 
your aunt occupied this house alone at night?” he 
asked. 

“We did.” 

“And you left here between three and four o’clock 
on Sunday — yesterday afternoon ?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the last time you saw your aunt she was 
alive?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you employ a female servant?” 

“No.” 

Inspector Mitchell regarded the girl in silence. 
She bore his scrutiny with outward composure. 

“Miss Baird,” he spoke slowly, weighing his 
words. “I took the message over the telephone to 
come at once to ‘Rose Hill’ — that a crime had been 
33 


The Cat’s Paw 

committed here. The message was given by a 
woman/’ 

Kitty stared at him uncomprehendingly, dumbly; 
then, before they could detain her, she fled from the 
library and rushing upstairs, dashed into her room, 
locked the door, and flung herself face downward 
on the bed. 


CHAPTER IV 


SUICIDE? 

T he reception was in full swing and Mrs. 
Amos Parsons contemplated her crowded 
drawing room in a spirit of happy self- 
congratulation. She had just welcomed a newly 
accredited ambassador and introduced a Cabinet 
officer to the ambassadors charming wife and she 
felt that her feet were at last securely placed upon 
the ladder of success. The scene was typical of the 
national Capital. The World War had rudely in- 
terrupted the ''calling'' days of the hostesses of 
Washington, but with the advent of peace a return 
had been made to old customs, and "teas" were again 
taking their accepted place in the social calendar. 

"A penny for your thoughts," said a masculine 
voice over her shoulder and glancing around Mrs. 
Parsons found Charles Craige at her elbow. 

"You offer a penny too much," laughed Mrs. 
Parsons. "They were idle thoughts — " 

"About the idle rich." Craig looked at her with 

35 


The Caf s Paw 


admiration. ‘'Upon my word, Cecilia, you grow 
prettier every day.” 

“Happiness is a great ‘beautifier,’ ” Mrs. Parsons 
glanced up at him with a strange, new shyness ; then 
quickly veiled her eyes that he might not read her 
thoughts too plainly. Under pretense of arranging 
the bouquet, his gift, which she was carrying, Craige 
pressed her hand. His marked attention to the fas- 
cinating widow had aroused the interest of their 
circle of friends, and the prospect of the announce- 
ment of their engagement had formed the topic of 
conversation on numerous occasions. 

There was a lull in the arrival of guests and Mrs. 
Parsons imperceptibly edged toward an alcove. 
Many curious glances were cast in their direction by 
both men and women who stood chatting in groups 
about the long drawing room. They made a striking 
tableau — Mrs. Parsons’ delicate beauty enhanced by 
a perfectly fitting modish gown, and Charles Craige, 
standing tall and straight beside her, his iron-grey 
hair and ruddy complexion adding distinction to his 
appearance. 

“The world and his wife are here this afternoon, 
Cecilia,” he said. “Your tea is an unqualified suc- 
cess. And every one is lingering,” glancing down 
the room. “That is a sure sign that they are en- 
joying themselves.” 

“Except Major Wallace.” Mrs. Parsons drew 

36 


Suicide? 


his attention to a man worming his way between the 
groups of people. ‘‘He appears to avoid his 
friends — ^there, he has cut Nina Potter dead.” 

“What a caddish thing to do!” Craige spoke 
with warmth as he saw Mrs. Potter shrink back and 
her half-extended hand drop to her side. Turning 
quickly, she slipped behind two women and disap- 
peared from their sight. Walking moodily ahead, 
Leigh Wallace found himself face to face with his 
hostess and Charles Craige. 

“Not leaving so early, surely?” she exclaimed as 
he put out his hand. 

“Yes, I just dropped in for a minute,” Wallace 
explained, and he made no effort to conceal the in- 
difference of his tone. “I don’t feel very fit this 
afternoon, so you must excuse me. Good evening, 
Craige,” and he turned abruptly and left them. 

“Of all uncivil people!” observed Mrs. Parsons, 
much incensed. “That’s the last invitation he gets 
to my house.” 

“He doesn’t look well,” Craige remarked thought- 
fully. “I presume he and Kitty Baird have had an- 
other quarrel.” 

“Well, he has no right to vent his ill-humor on 
me or my guests.” Mrs. Parsons was not pacified. 

“I hope Kitty decides to marry Ted Rogers and 
not Leigh Wallace.” Craige looked grave. “It 
37 


The Cat's Paw 


would be a far more suitable match, although I un- 
derstand Rodgers is not wealthy/’ 

'‘Mr. Rodgers was here a moment ago.” Mrs. 
Parsons raised her lorgnette and glanced about her. 
“He asked particularly for Kitty. Where in the 
world is she ? She was to pour tea for me this after- 
noon.” 

“Have you not heard — ” 

“Heard ?” Attracted by the alteration in Craige’s 
voice, Mrs. Parsons looked at him. “Heard what?” 

“That Kitty’s aunt, Miss Susan Baird, was found 
dead this morning — ” 

“Great heavens!” Mrs. Parsons retreated a step 
in shocked surprise. “Oh, Mrs. Sutherland, so glad 
to see you. You know Mr. Craige, of course.” As 
the newcomer and the lawyer exchanged greetings, 
Mrs. Parsons saw Nina Potter and started toward 
her, but several guests claimed her attention and 
when she looked around Nina had vanished. 

The room which served Benjamin Potter as a 
combination workshop and library was at the other 
end of the apartment which the elderly naturalist 
had leased upon his marriage to Nina Underwood 
six months before. The apartment house, one of 
those erected to meet the demands for housing 
wealthy war-workers who thronged the national 
Capital during the winter of 1917-1918, had but one 
apartment to each floor, and Potter had been grati- 

38 


Suicide? 


fied by having the best room, from his point of view, 
set aside for his exclusive use by his bride. 

Mrs. Potter had also seen to it that the furniture 
was of the finest mahogany, the filing and specimen 
cases of the most approved models, while the leather- 
seated chairs and lounges added greatly to the com- 
fort of the occupants of the room. No expense had 
been spared and for the first time in his hard-work- 
ing, studious life, Ben Potter had found himself sur- 
rounded with every comfort which money could 
purchase. 

Potter’s marriage to his pretty stenographer had 
been a severe shock to several impecunious relatives 
and a nine days’ wonder to his small world. He had 
taken the surprised comments and sometimes be- 
lated congratulations of both relatives and friends 
with the same placid good nature which character- 
ized all his actions. Nina, with a tact for which she 
had not been credited, went out of her way to culti- 
vate his friends, and if she felt the chilly reception 
accorded her, never by word or manner betrayed the 
fact. 

Seated alone in his room and absorbed in his 
book. Potter was oblivious of the lengthening 
shadows and was only recalled to his surroundings 
by the opening of the door. 

*^Well, what is it?” he asked testily. ‘^Oh!” At 

39 


The Cat’s Paw 


sight of his wife, his expression brightened. “I did 
not expect you home so soon.” 

“Soon?” Nina laughed softly, as she brushed 
his unruly gray hair back from his forehead. “Have 
you no idea of the time? It is nearly six o’clock, 
and you should not be reading with only one light 
turned on. Doctor McLean must talk to you.” 

Potter made a wry face. “I would rather listen 
to you than any doctor,” he said and pulled forward 
a chair close to his own. “Tell me, have you had a 
pleasant time at Mrs. Parsons’ tea?” 

“Does one ever have a pleasant time at a tea?” 
Nina’s gesture was eloquent. “Where are your 
matches, dear?” — fumbling, as she spoke, with her 
cigarette case. 

Potter frowned slightly as he located a match box 
under the tumbled papers on his desk and struck a 
light for her. He had never been able to master his 
dislike to women smoking, in spite of his staunch be- 
lief that his pretty wife was always right in every- 
thing she did. Reading his expression like a book, 
Nina slipped her hand inside his and leaned against 
his arm. 

“It is very lonely going about without you,” she 
murmured. “I don’t enjoy myself a bit when you 
remain at home.” 

Potter turned and kissed the soft cheek so near 
his own. “My holiday is over,” he answered, and 
40 


Suicide? 


putting out his foot touched a packing case, its con- 
tents partly spread on the floor in an untidy pile. 
‘‘I cannot neglect my work.’* 

‘'You will never be accused of that,” with flatter- 
ing emphasis. “But, dear, I need — want your society 
more than these dreadful reptiles,” and she made a 
slight grimace as she glanced at the bottles contain- 
ing specimens preserved in alcohol which adorned 
the shelves of a cabinet near at hand. “I know,” 
lowering her voice, “Fm selfish — ” 

“I love your selfishness, dear,” he replied, and 
held her closely to him just as a tap sounded on the 
door. “Confound it! Come in.” 

The Japanese servant, who answered his com- 
mand, bowed profoundly, and his calm gaze never 
flickered at sight of the loverlike attitude of husband 
and wife. 

“You home. Sir?” he asked. 

*‘Yes, of course, I’m home. What of it?” Potter 
dropped his arm from about his wife’s waist in em- 
barrassment. 

“Mr. Rodgers call upon you.” The Japanese 
spoke without haste. “You see him?” 

“Certainly. Bring him here,” and at the words 
Moto vanished. 

“Here?” echoed Nina. ‘Tsn’t it a bit untidy?” 

“What of it?. He hasn’t come to see us,” he 
grumbled. “Probably thinks Kitty is here. I don’t 

41 


The Cats Paw 

approve of Kitty playing fast and loose with those 
two men/^ 

‘'What men ?” Nina was not looking at her hus- 
band, and missed his keen scrutiny. 

“Ted Rodgers and Leigh Wallace, briefly. “If 
it goes on much longer, I will speak to Cousin Susan 
Baird. Hello, what did you do that for?” as the 
room was suddenly plunged in darkness. A second 
later the light flashed up. 

“I pulled the wrong string,” Nina explained as 
she lighted both sides of the electric lamp. 

Potter paused undecidedly, then rose and, going 
over to the packing case, tossed excelsior and paper 
back into it and pushed it behind a screen. When 
he turned back, he saw Nina deftly rearranging the 
ornaments and papers on his flat top desk. In 
silence he watched her graceful movements and the 
play of the lamplight on her hair which shone like 
spun gold under its rays. It would have taken a 
more observant man than her husband to have dis- 
covered that nature's art had been supplemented by 
the rouge pot. No wrinkles marred the soft pink 
and white tint of her complexion, and few would 
have guessed that she had passed her thirtieth birth- 
day. 

Looking up, Nina caught her husband's gaze and 
flushed faintly. 

“I hope Mr. Rodgers won't stay long,” she began, 
42 


Suicide? 


and checked herself hastily as Moto ushered in their 
caller. very glad to see you, Mr. Rodgers,’’ she 
exclaimed, extending her hand, which rested in his 
for a fraction of a second and was withdrawn. 

At the touch of her cold fingers, Rodgers looked 
intently at her. He still found it hard to realize that 
the fashionably gowned woman before him was Ben 
Potter’s wife. Ben a Benedict! The mere idea had 
provoked a smile, and the announcement of the mar- 
riage in cold print had produced a burst of merri- 
ment, and the silent hope that Ben had found a 
motherly soul to run his house for him. Intsead of 
which, with the perversity of Fate, Ben Potter had 
selected a wife at least fifteen years his junior, who 
would most certainly enjoy the social life of Wash- 
ington to the full. 

Potter had formed a strong attachment for the 
younger man when spending a winter in San Fran- 
cisco three years before and Rodgers had been a 
frequent visitor since his arrival in Washington. 
His visits, as Potter shrewdly noted, were generally 
timed to find Kitty Baird with her cousins, and ended 
in his escorting her home. 

‘T missed you both at Mrs. Parsons’ tea, so 
dropped in for a chat,” Rodgers remarked, accepting 
a cigar from Potter as Nina perched herself on one 
end of the lounge. “Why weren’t you there?” 

“Nina went,” answered Potter, throwing himself 
43 


The Cat's Paw 

down in his favorite chair. “You don’t catch me 
at a tea/^ 

‘‘You were there, Mrs. Potter?’’ Rodgers spoke 
in surprise. “I searched for you — ” 

“It was a frightful jam.” Nina picked up her 
workbag which she had left on the lounge earlier 
in the afternoon and unfolded its contents. “I did 
not stay long.” 

“But you heard the news?” 

“News?” Potter glanced up, expectantly. The 
tone in which the question was put arrested his at- 
tention which had strayed to his wife. “Was there 
any special news ? Nina, you didn’t tell me.” 

“I heard no news in particular.” Nina held a 
needle and thread nearer the light. “To what do 
you refer, Mr. Rodgers?” 

“To the death of Miss Susan Baird.” 

Potter sat bolt upright. His healthy color changed 
to a sickly white. “Cousin Susan dead? Im- 
possible !” 

“It is a fact. Mr. Craige told me — ” Rodgers 
stooped over and picked up the needle which had 
slipped from Nina’s clutch. “Take care you don’t 
prick yourself, Mrs. Potter, he warned, as he placed 
it in the palm of her hand and noticed the quick, 
spasmodic movement of her fingers. “The news 
had just gotten about and every one at the tea was 
talking of Miss Baird.” 


44 


Suicide? 


^That's turning the tables; usually Cousin Susan 
talked about everybody/’ Potter remarked, breaking 
a slight pause. ‘‘Why hasn’t Kitty telephoned us? 
I am now her nearest living relative.” 

“She may have tried to reach us,” suggested his 
wife. “I don’t suppose Moto answered the telephone 
in my absence; he hates it. Did you hear it ring, 
Ben?” 

“No,” shortly. “I can’t say I grieve over your 
news, Ted. I have always resented Cousin Susan’s 
treatment of Kitty. Made the girl slave for her, the 
venomous old scandal-monger.” 

“Ben !” Nina’s shocked tone caused her husband 
to pause in his rapid speech. “Did you hear, Mr. 
Rodgers, the cause of Cousin Susan’s death?” 

“Bit her tongue and died from blood-poisoning,” 
growled Potter, before Rodgers could answer. 

“Ben!” 

“Well, all right, dear ; I’ll say no more. But,” in 
self-defense, noting Rodgers’ surprise, “I’ve had no 
cause to love Cousin Susan — I heard her caustic 
remarks about my marriage. Never mind that 
now,” with a quick glance at his wife. “Go ahead, 
Ted, tell us of what Cousin Susan died.” 

“The coroner will have to answer that question, 
Ben.” 

“The coroner!” Potter rose to his feet and stared 
at his guest. “What d’ye mean? Oh, hurry your 
45 


The Cats Paw 


speech, man ; don’t keep us in suspense,” as Rodgers 
hesitated and eyed Mrs. Potter in some trepidation. 
Judging from her sudden loss of color, she was 
about to faint. 

‘‘Your cousin was found dead,” he said, and got 
no further, 

“Found dead — where?” demanded Mrs. Potter, 
breathlessly. 

“In her library.” 

Potter broke the pause. “Go ahead and tell us 
what you know, Ted.” He reseated himself. “Give 
us every detail.” 

Rodgers shook his head. “I know very little on 
the subject,” he said. “I stopped on the way here 
and telephoned to ‘Rose Hill,’ but could get no re- 
sponse; so I came right here supposing you could 
tell me further news. I thought Miss Kitty might 
be with you.” 

“We have not seen Kitty since early this morn- 
ing,” answered Nina. “Who found Cousin Susan?” 
Rodgers, his ear trained to detect variations in the 
human voice, observed a faint huskiness in the usual 
soft tones. 

“I do not know, Mrs. Potter,” he said. “Miss 
Baird was so well known in Washington that her 
death was commented on at the tea, and I only heard 
a garbled account of what occurred. Perhaps there 
might be something in the evening paper.” 

46 


Suicide? 


^To be sure/' Potter jumped at the suggestion, 
and hurrying toward the door, pushed an electric 
bell. A second later and Moto responded. “The 
evening paper, quick." 

Moto let his gaze travel around the room, then 
darting forward he crossed to where the packing 
case stood partially concealed behind the screen. 
Delving into its contents, he returned a moment later 
with a crumpled newpaper and extended it to his 
master. 

“You toss it down, so," demonstrating, “when I 
bring it to you, sir," he explained. “You say, ‘Moto, 
don't trouble me, go away,' and I go." 

“Well, well, Moto, you interrupted me." Potter's 
tone was apologetic. “Much obliged for finding the 
paper. That is all I wanted." And Moto slipped 
away to his pantry in time to hear the buzzer of the 
front door bell sounding faintly. 

Forgetful of all but the paper in his hand, Potter 
turned it over and searched for the item of news. 

“Try the first page," suggested Rodgers. Potter 
switched the sheet around and gave vent to a startled 
exclamation as his eyes fell on the double column 
heading : 

ELDERLY SPINSTER FOUND DEAD 
SUICIDE SUSPECTED 


47 


The Cafs Paw 


“Suicide Potter gasped. “Bless my soul ! 
Who would have believed Cousin Susan would kill 
herself?’^ 

“She didn’t!” The denial rang out clearly from 
the direction of the door and wheeling around the 
three occupants of the room saw Kitty Baird con- 
fronting them. “Aunt Susan did not commit sui- 
cide, Ben ; you know she didn’t.” 

Potter stared at her long and earnestly. Twice 
he opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, 
after a look at Ted Rodgers who, upon Kitty’s en- 
trance, had stopped somewhat in the background so 
that his face was in shadow. 

“I don’t know anything,” Potter said finally. “I 
haven’t read the paper — ” 

“The paper has printed lies!” Kitty’s foot came 
down with an unmistakable stamp, and her eyes 
sparkled with wrath. “I tell you Aunt Susan did not 
commit suicide.” 

“Yes, dear.” Nina stepped hastily forward and 
threw her arm protectingly across Kitty’s shoulder. 
“Come and sit down, and when you are more com- 
posed you can tell us of — of the details.” Exerting 
some strength, she pulled the unwilling girl to the 
lounge and gently pushed her down upon it. “I am 
so, so sorry, Kitty. Your aunt — ” she stumbled a 
bit in her speech — “Your aunt’s death is a great 
shock — ” 


48 


Suicide? 


‘‘To me/* bitterly. "T know many people disliked 
her. Poor Aunt Susan — ” Kitty*s lips trembled. 
“You need not try to dissemble your feelings, Ben. 
I know you hated Susan.** 

“Oh, come, Kitty ; that’s pretty strong lan- 
guage!** Potter flushed angrily. “You are un- 
strung — where are your smelling salts, Nina?** 

“A glass of wine would be better.** Rodgers 
spoke for the first time, and Kitty looked up in 
startled surprise. She had been conscious of a third 
person in the room when she first entered, but, ab- 
sorbed in her talk with her cousin, had forgotten his 
presence. 

“Where’s my flask?** demanded Potter, consider- 
ably shaken out of his habitual calm. “Oh, thank 
you, my dear,” as Nina snatched it out of one of his 
desk drawers. “Now, Kitty,” unscrewing the stop- 
per and pouring some cognac into an empty tumbler, 
which, with a water carafe, stood on his desk. 
“Drink this ; no, I insist — ” as she put up her hand 
in protest. “You will need all your strength — drink 
every drop.” 

Kitty’s eyes sought Rodgers and his quick 
“Please do” did more to make her drink the cognac 
than all Potter’s urging. The fiery strength of the 
old brandy made her catch her breath, but she did 
not put the tumbler down until she had swallowed 
its contents. As the stimulant crept through her 
49 


The Ca( s Paw 


veins, her head cleared, and the feeling of deadly 
faintness which had threatened to overcome her 
several times on her way to her cousin’s apartment, 
disappeared. 

‘‘I will tell you what I know,” she began. “Aunt 
Susan was found by the police dead in our library. 
The coroner claims that she had taken poison.” 

“Well?” prompted Potter. “Go on.” 

“Aunt Susan never swallowed poison — of her own 
free will.” Kitty turned and gazed at Ted Rodgers. 
Intently she studied his face, noting his clear-cut 
features and shapely head. Standing six feet four, 
he seemed to dwarf Ben Potter. Although the latter 
was nearly his equal in height, the stoop in his 
shoulders, which betrayed the hours spent in pouring 
over books, made Potter appear much shorter. 
Something of his quiet, determined character showed 
in Rodgers’ firm mouth and handsome eyes, eyes 
which redeemed the severe lines of his face. 

He had fallen madly in love with Kitty and had 
courted her with the persistency of his faithful na- 
ture. Heartsick, craving sympathy, which had 
brought her to her cousin only to be rebuffed by his 
reception of the news of her aunt’s death, Kitty 
turned instinctively to Rodgers. 

“Won’t you help me prove that Aunt Susan did 
not commit suicide ?” she asked. 

As he studied the upturned face, the deep blue 

50 


Suicide? 


eyes, made more brilliant by the tears she had shed 
that morning, and noted the forlorn droop of her 
shoulders, Rodgers* decision was taken. 

“I will do anything for you — anything,** he 
promised, his deep voice vibrating with feeling. 

‘Then find the murderer of Aunt Susan,** she 
cried. 

“How — what?** Potter looked at her aghast. 
“What makes you think Cousin Susan was mur- 
dered?** 

“My intuition,** promptly. “Oh, you may jeer, 
but it was no case of suicide. Aunt Susan did not 
court death — she feared it.** 


CHAPTER V 


AT THE MORGUE 

C ORONER PENFIELD adjusted his glasses 
and gazed at the six men who composed 
the jury, as they filed into their places, and 
then turned to look at the spectators assembled in 
the room reserved for the coroner’s inquests at the 
District of Columbia Morgue. Not only Washing- 
ton society was taking a deep interest in the inquiry 
into the death of Miss Susan Baird, but many other 
citizens of the national Capital, to whom the name of 
Baird meant nothing, and who had been unac- 
quainted with the spinster in her life-time. Every 
seat was taken in the large square room, and from 
his position on the elevated platform, where stood 
tables and chairs for the coroner, his assistant, the 
reporters, and the witnesses. Coroner Penfield saw 
Dr. Leonard McLean conversing with Inspector 
Mitchell of the Central Office. 

The hands of the wall clock were within five min- 
utes of ten, the hour at which the inquest had been 
5 ^ 


At the Morgue 


called, on Tuesday morning, when the outer door 
opened and Ted Rodgers stepped inside the room, 
followed a second later by Benjamin Potter. Ob- 
serving two unoccupied seats on the second row they 
crossed the room, exchanging, as they did so, low- 
spoken greetings with friends and acquaintances who 
had come early to secure the most advantageous 
seats. 

The swearing in of the jury by the Morgue Master 
required but a short time. Clearing his throat, 
Coroner Penfield outlined the reason for the inquest, 
and asked the jury if they had inspected the body of 
the dead woman. 

'‘We have,’’ responded the foreman, and Penfield 
turned to the Morgue Master, who occupied a chair 
at the foot of the platform. 

"Call the first witness,” he directed. "Inspector 
Mitchell.” 

Hat in hand, the Inspector advanced to the steps 
and mounted to the witness chair, and was duly 
sworn by the Morgue Master. In businesslike tones 
he answered the coroner’s quickly put questions as 
to his identity and length of service on the Metro- 
politan Police Force and Detective Bureau. 

"Did you find Miss Baird’s body?” asked the 
coroner. 

"I did, Sir.” 

"When?” 


53 


The Cat’s Paw 


‘‘Yesterday, Monday morning, when summoned 
to her home in Georgetown.” 

“How did the summons reach you?” 

“By telephone.” Mitchell hesitated, and the coro- 
ner waited for him to continue before putting an- 
other question. “The message was to go at once to 
‘Rose Hill,’ that a crime had been committed there.” 

“Did the person talking on the telephone give his 
name ?” 

“No, Sir.” 

“Did you ask his name?” 

“I did, but she rang off instead of answering.” 

“She ?” inquiringly. 

“I took the voice to be that of a woman,” ex- 
plained Mitchell cautiously. 

“Are you not certain that it was a woman speak- 
ing?” 

“To the best of my belief it was.” Mitchel. 
paused. “I am sure it was a woman’s voice.” 

“Have you tried to trace the call ?” 

“Yes,” somewhat glumly. “But Central had no 
record of it.” 

“Then it did not come over a public telephone?” 

“No, Sir.” 

“Was it on a limited service wire ?” 

“No. Central declares not,” responded Mitchell. 
“She insists that it must have been sent by some one 
using unlimited service.” 


54 


At the Morgue 


Penfield paused to jot down a note on his mem- 
orandum pad before again questioning the in- 
spector. 

‘‘At what hour did the telephone call reach you T* 

“At eight minutes past eight o’clock yesterday 
morning. I was in Police Headquarters and took 
the message myself,” tersely. 

“At what hour did you reach Miss Baird’s home ?” 

“Fifteen minutes later. I took O’Bryan, a plain 
clothes man, and Patrolman Myers with me.” 

“Tell us what you found when you reached the 
Baird house,” Coroner Penfield directed, settling 
back in his chair. Conscious that he had the un- 
divided attention of every one in the crowded room, 
Mitchell spoke with slow impressiveness. 

“We went up the front steps of the house and 
rang the bell; not getting any response we rang 
several times. I was just thinking that we had bet- 
ter try the back entrance when O’Bryan saw the key 
in the front door — ” 

“Wait.” Penfield held up his hand. “Do I un- 
derstand that the key to the front door was left in 
the lock on the outside in plain view of every pass- 
erby?” 

“It wasn’t exactly in plain view,” protested Mit- 
chell. “We didn’t see it at once, and the sidewalk is 
some distance from the house, which stands on a 
55 


The Caf s Taw 


high terrace. Passers-by could not see the key in 
the lock unless they ran up the steps and stood in 
the vestibule of the front door.** . 

'Was the door locked?’* 

"Yes, Sir.” 

"Was it a spring lock?” 

"No, Sir.” Mitchell drew an old-fashioned brass 
key from his pocket and handed it to the coroner. 
"That lock, Sir, was made by hand many years ago. 
It’s the kind that if you lock the door, either from 
the inside or the outside, the door could not be 
opened unless you had the key to unlock it.” , 

"Then, Inspector, some person, on leaving the 
Baird house, locked the door on the outside, and 
thereby locked in any person or persons who might 
have been in the house at that time?” 

"Yes, Sir.” 

"Ump!” Penfield picked up the brass key and 
handed it to the foreman of the jury. "Did you 
find finger marks on the key?” he asked. 

"No, not one.” Mitchell hesitated. "Whoever 
handled the key wore gloves.” 

"Very likely.” Penfield spoke more briskly. 
"What did you discover inside the house. Inspector?” 

"We found no one in the hall ; so we walked into 
the parlor which is on the right of the front door. 
No one was there, so we kept on through the door 
opening into the rear hall, and from there walked 

56 


At the Morgue 


into the library/' Mitchell paused dramatically. 
^‘There we found Miss Baird's dead body lying 
huddled up in a big chair in front of her tea table." 

'"Had she been taking tea?" 

"Yes, judging from the plate of sandwiches and 
cakes, and her nearly empty teacup." Mitchell ex- 
plained in detail. "There was a plate in front of her 
on which lay a half-eaten peach." 

"Was there evidence to show that some one had 
been having tea with Miss Baird?" inquired Pen- 
field. 

"Only one cup and saucer and plate had been 
used. Sir." 

"And the chairs, how were they placed?" 

"About as usual, I imagine." Mitchell looked a 
trifle worried. "There was no chair drawn up to 
the tea table, if you mean that. Only Miss Baird's 
chair stood close by it." 

"What did you do upon the discovery of Miss 
Baird's body?" asked Penfield, after a pause. 

"Made sure that she was dead and not in need of 
a physician, then sent O’Bryan to telephone to the 
coroner, while Myers and I searched the house," re- 
plied Mitchell. 

"Did you find any one in the house?" 

"No, Sir. It was empty, except for the dead 
woman and a cat." 

The inspector's reply caused a stir of interest, 

57 


The Cat's Paw 


and one juror started to address him, then, conscious 
of attracting attention, decided not to speak. 

'^Did you find the windows and doors locked?’^ 
inquired Penfield, after a second’s thought. 

'‘Yes; that is, those on the first floor and in the 
basement were locked,” explained Mitchell. "The 
windows on the second and third floors were un- 
locked, but closed. Sunday was a cold day,” he 
added. 

"In your opinion, Mitchell, could the house have 
been entered from the second story?” asked Pen- 
field. 

The inspector considered the question before an- 
swering. "No, Sir, not without a ladder, and we 
found none on the premises. The house sets back 
in its own grounds, so to speak, and the neighboring 
houses are quite far away. There is no party wall, 
and no porch roof to aid a housebreaker.” 

"That is all for the present, Inspector. As you 
go out, ask O’Bryan to come here.” 

The plain clothes officer kept them waiting only 
a brief second. His testimony simply corroborated 
that of his superior officer, and Patrolman Myers, 
who followed him, added nothing of interest. Upon 
his departure from the platform, his place was taken 
by an old negro, who, with some difficulty, mounted 
the steps and hobbled across the platform to the 
witness chair. 


58 


At the Morgue 


‘‘What is your name?” asked Coroner Penfield, 
who had waited in some impatience while the wit- 
ness was being sworn. 

“Oskah, Sah, please, Sah.” 

“Oscar what ?” 

“Oscar Benjamin De Cassenove Jackson, Sah.” 

“Well, Oscar, are you acquainted with the nature 
of an oath?” 

“Laws, Sah, ain’t I been married mos’ forty 
years ? My wife, she’s kinda handy wif her tongue,” 
and Oscar smiled, deprecatingly. 

“I am not alluding to swearing,” exclaimed Pen- 
field. “I mean the sort of oath requiring you to tell 
the truth and nothing but the truth.” 

“Laws, Sah, I tells de truf every day o’ my life,” 
replied Oscar with some indignation. “’Tain’t no 
occasion to tell me that.” 

“Very well.” Penfield spoke with sternness. “Re- 
member, you are under oath to tell only the truth. 
When did you last see Miss Susan Baird alive?” 

Oscar blinked at the abruptness of the question. 
“Sunday mawning, Sah, when I was servin’ dinner 
at one o’clock.” 

“Did she appear to be in good spirits?” asked 
Penfield. “In good health — ” he added, noting 
Oscar’s mystified expression. 

“Yessah. She ate real hearty, and when I went 
in de lib’ry after dinner, she was jes’ as peaceful an’ 
59 


The Caf s Paw 


ca^m, a-sittin' in that great easy chair her’s as if 
she never had had no words with Miss Kitty/^ 

‘‘Oh, so Miss Baird had words with Miss Kitty — 
and who might Miss Kitty be?’’ 

A startled look flitted across Ted Rodgers’ face, 
to be gone the next instant. He had followed the 
testimony of each witness with undivided attention, 
answering only in monosyllables the muttered re- 
marks made to him occasionally by Ben Potter, 
whose expression of boredom had given place to 
more lively interest at sight of Oscar on his way 
to the witness chair. 

“Who am Miss Kitty?” asked Oscar in scandal- 
ized surprise. “Why, Miss Baird’s niece. They 
live together, leastwise they did ’till yesterday. Poor 
ole Miss, she didn’t mean no harm — ” 

“No harm to whom ?” questioned Penfield swiftly. 

“To Miss Kitty. She jes’ said she wouldn’t have 
no such carrying-on,” explained Oscar. 

“To what did she refer?” 

Oscar favored the coroner with a blank stare. “I 
dunno, Sah. That’s all o’ de conversation that I 
overheard.” 

Penfield regarded him attentively, but the old 
man’s gaze did not waver, and after a moment he 
resumed his examination. 

“How long have you worked for Miss Baird?” 

“ ’Most twenty years, Sah.” 

6o 


At the Morgue 

‘‘And what did you do for her?” 

“I cooked, waited on de table, tended the fires and 
the garden, cleaned de house, an' run errands,” 
ended Oscar with a flourish, and Penfield had dif- 
ficulty in suppressing a smile. Oscar's rheumatic 
legs did not suggest an agile errand boy. 

“Who were the other servants ?'' 

“Weren't none,” tersely. “Miss Baird, she 
wouldn't keep no yeller help, so Mandy, my wife, 
washed de clothes, an' I done de rest.” 

“Did you and Mandy sleep in Miss Baird's 
house ?” 

“No, Sah. We lives in our own house, two blocks 
away.” 

“What were your working hours?” 

“Hey?” Oscar stroked his wooly head reflec- 
tively. “ 'Most all day,” he volunteered finally. 
“Mandy had one o’ her spells yesterday mawnin’ an’ 
I had ter get a doctah fo' her, an' that's why I never 
reached Miss Baird’s 'til 'bout noon.” 

“I see.” Penfield sat back in his chair and fum- 
bled with his watch charm. Oscar as a witness was 
a disappointment, whatever his accomplishments as 
an all-round servant. “At what hour did you leave 
Miss Baird's on Sunday?” 

“ 'Bout half-past two,” answered Oscar, after due 
thought. 

“And whom did you leave in the house?” 

6l 


The Cats Paw 


‘‘Miss Baird and her niece, Miss Kitty/’ 

“No one else — no visitor?” 

“No, Sah.” 

“Think again, Oscar. Remember, you are under 
oath. Did either Miss Baird or Miss Kitty Baird 
have callers before you left on Sunday afternoon?” 

“No, Sah, they did not, not while I was there.” 

Penfield pushed back his chair and rose. “That 
will do, Oscar, you are excused. Hume,” to the 
Morgue Master. “Call Miss Katrina Baird.” 


CHAPTER VI 


TESTIMONY 

T here was craning of necks and bendii^ 
of heads as the Morgue Master opened the 
door leading to the room where the wit- 
nesses waited to be called, and every eye was fo- 
cussed on Kitty Baird as she stepped into the court 
room. 

*'DonT look so startled, Kitty,” whispered Dr. 
Leonard McLean in her ear. He had retained his 
seat by the door, expecting to leave at any moment. 
“This inquest is only a legal formality.” 

“But these people — ^the publicity,” she faltered. 
“Move on. Miss, move on,” directed Hume, the 
Morgue Master. “You can’t talk to the witnesses. 
Doctor. This way. Miss,” and interposing his thick- 
set, stocky figure between Leonard and Kitty, he 
followed her to the platform and administered the 
oath : “To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth.” 

Kitty sat down in the witness chair with a feeling 

63 


The Caf s Paw 


of thankfulness. The space between it and the door 
through which she had entered had seemed an end- 
less distance as she traversed it. Coroner Penfield 
swung his chair around so as to obtain a better view 
of her. 

“Your full name he asked. 

“Katrina Baird.^^ Her low voice barely reached 
the jurors, and Penfield smiled at her encouragingly. 

“Please speak louder/' he suggested. “Were you 
related to Miss Susan Baird?" 

“Yes; she was my aunt," Kitty‘s voice gained in 
strength as her confidence returned. “My father. 
Judge George Baird, was her only brother." 

“You made your home in Georgetown with your 
aunt ?" 

“Yes, ever since the death of my parents.” 

“And who else resided with your aunt?" 

“No one." 

“No servants?" 

“No. Our only servant, Oscar, never slept in the 
house." 

“Did your aunt ever employ another servant?" 

“No." 

“No chambermaid?" 

“No." Kitty's flush was becoming to her, the 
coroner decided. The added color brought out the 
blue of her eyes and softened the haggard lines 
which had come overnight. “My aunt could not af- 
64 


Testimony 


ford to employ two servants, so we looked after the 
house, Oscar doing the heavy work. He was al- 
ways faithful and kind.’’ 

‘‘And devoted to your aunt?” with a quick look 
at her. 

“Yes, certainly,” she responded, calmly. 

There was a brief pause before Penfield again 
addressed her, and Kitty, her first nervous dread of 
facing the crowded court room a thing of the past, 
allowed her gaze to wander about the room. It was 
with a sharp stab of pain that she recognized more 
than one familiar face among the spectators. Could 
it be that men and women whom her aunt had 
counted among her friends and whom she had enter- 
tained in her limited way had come to the inquest 
from curiosity? Kitty shivered, the idea shocked 
her. 

“Did you spend last Sunday at home. Miss 
Baird?” asked Penfield. 

“No, not the entire day,” she replied. “I left there 
about three o’clock in the afternoon to go to my 
cousin, Mrs. Benjamin Potter, at whose apartment 
I was to spend the night.” 

“Was it your custom to leave your aunt alone in 
the house at night?” 

“Not a custom, certainly; but I did occasionally 
stay overnight with friends or with my cousins, Mr. 
and Mrs. Potter, in Washington,” Kitty explained. 

65 


The Cats Taw 


“Aunt Susan was never afraid of being left alone 
in the house. And, of course, I was at my work all 
through the day.” 

“And what is your work, Miss Baird?” 

“I am employed as a social secretary by Mrs. Amos 
Parsons,” she replied, concisely. “I am with her 
from nine in the morning until four in the after^ 
noon.” 

“Only on week days ?” 

“Yes. I have Sunday to myself.” 

“And how did you spend last Sunday, Miss 
Baird?” 

“I went to church in the morning.” 

“Alone?” 

“No. Major Leigh Wallace accompanied me.” 

“Did Major Wallace return to your house with 
you?” 

“No.” 

The curtly spoken monosyllable brought a sharp 
glance from the coroner, of which she appeared un- 
aware. 

“At what hour did you reach your house. Miss 
Baird ?” he asked. 

“After church — ” she considered a moment. “To 
be exact, about a quarter of one.” 

“Did you and your aunt lunch alone ?” 

“Yes. We had no guests,” briefly. 

“And what did you do after luncheon?” 

66 


Testimony 


“It wasn^t luncheon, it was dinner,'’ she ex- 
plained. “I went upstairs almost immediately after 
it was served, and changed my dress preparatory to 
going out.” 

“When did you last see your aunt alive?” asked 
Penfield. 

“As I was leaving the house,” Kitty spoke more 
hurriedly, “I looked into her bedroom and called out 
‘Good-by!’ ” 

“Miss Baird,” Penfield let his eyeglasses dangle 
from their ribbon and stood up. “Was your aunt 
expecting guests at tea on Sunday afternoon?” 

“I am sure she was not,” she replied. “Aunt 
Susan always asked me to arrange the tea table if 
she had invited any of her friends to come and see 
her. She was, eh, formal and insisted that her 
guests be given tea when they called.” 

“Was it your aunt’s custom to drink tea every 
afternoon whether she had guests or not?” 

“Oh, yes. She had a spirit lamp and a tea caddy 
in the library, and made tea for herself,” Kitty re- 
sponded. “But if any friends were coming she in- 
sisted always that the table be especially arranged — 
sandwiches — and all that,” ^ a trifle vaguely. Kitty 
was growing tired of answering questions which ap- 
peared to lead nowhere. 

Coroner Penfield picked up several sheets of pa- 

67 


The Cafs Paw 


per and thumbed them over until he came to a pen- 
ciled memorandum. 

‘There were two sandwiches and some peaches 
on the tea table in front of your aunt,” he remarked. 
“Who prepared those sandwiches?” 

For the second time Kitty colored hotly. “The 
sandwiches were left over from some I made on 
Saturday when Aunt Susan entertained Mrs. Amos 
Parsons at tea. 

“And the peaches — ” questioned Penfield. 

“I don’t know where Aunt Susan got the 
peaches,” she said, with a quick shrug of her shoul- 
ders. “Probably Oscar brought them to her on 
Sunday morning when I was out. He knew her fond- 
ness for them.” 

“Did you not always know what supplies you had 
in your larder?” 

“Why, no.” With a lift of her eyebrows. “Oscar 
did the marketing.” 

Penfield laid down the papers in his hand. “Was 
your aunt in her normal health on Sunday?” he 
asked. 

“Apparently so; I never observed any change in 
her.” 

“Had she complained of illness recently?” 

“No. On the contrary, she seemed brighter and 
more cheerful during the past ten days,” Kitty an- 
swered. 


68 


Testimony 


'Was she ever despondent 

"No,” promptly. "She always looked on the 
bright side of things. I — ” with a fleeting smile — 
"I was the pessimist of the family.” 

"I see.” Coroner Penfield regarded her thought- 
fully. She looked barely out of her 'teens,’ and hers 
was certainly not the face of a pessimist — ^youth, 
good health, and good looks did not conspire to a 
gloomy outlook on life. "Who were your aunt’s 
intimate friends ?” 

"Do you mean women of her own age ?” 

"Yes; of her age, and also of yours.” 

Kitty debated the question thoughtfully before 
answering it. "Not many of Aunt Susan’s old 
friends are alive,” she said. "Aunty had just passed 
her seventieth birthday. She liked all my friends.” 

"Yes.” Kitty regarded him steadfastly. She had 
noted the emphasis on the word "all.” A moment 
passed before the coroner addressed her again. 

"Miss Baird, have you unlimited telephone ser- 
vice?” 

'Why, yes.” Kitty’s tone expressed surprise. 
"We have always had unlimited service.” 

Penfield paused and wrote a few lines on his mem- 
orandum pad. When he spoke, his voice had gained 
an added seriousness. 


09 


The Cafs Paw 


"‘Were you and your aunt always on the best of 
terms he asked. 

Kitty sat erect and her hands dropped on the arms 
of her chair. 

“Your question is impertinent/’ she said cutting- 
ly, and, in spite of himself, Penfield flushed. 

“I insist upon an answer,” he retorted. “A truth- 
ful answer.” 

“Dr. Penfield!” Kitty rose. 

“Be seated. Madam. A witness cannot leave un- 
til dismissed by the coroner.” Penfield spoke with 
unwonted severity. “I will change my question. 
What did you and Miss Baird quarrel about on 
Sunday ?” 

“Quarrel?” 

“Yes, Madam, quarrel. Your servant, Oscar, 
overheard you.” 

Kitty’s bright color had flown. With eyes ex- 
pressing her scorn, she threw back her head de- 
fiantly. 

“Ask Oscar,” she suggested. “Servants’ ^gossip 
may prove diverting — whether truthful or not.” 

Penfield watched her for an intolerable moment. 
Kitty’s breath was coming unevenly when he finally 
spoke. 

“You are excused. Miss Baird,” he stated briefly, 
and turned to the Morgue Master. “Summon Mrs. 
Benjamin Potter, Hume,” he directed. 

70 


Testimony 


Kitty’s sudden dismissal by the coroner was a 
shock to the reporters as well as to the spectators, 
and they watched her leave the room with undis- 
guised curiosity and disappointment. Were they 
to be cheated out of a sensational scene ? Why had 
not Coroner Penfield pressed home his question? 

Nina Potter’s entrance cut short speculation and 
the reporters watched her take her place in the wit- 
ness chair with renewed hope. Her self-possessed 
air was a surprise to Ted Rodgers, who secretly con- 
sidered her a bundle of nerves. She looked ex- 
tremely pretty and Coroner Penfield watched her 
admiringly as the oath was being administered. 
From his seat on the second row, Ben Potter leaned 
against Rodgers, regardless of the latter’s discom- 
fort, in his endeavor to get an uninterrupted view 
of his wife. 

^^rs. Potter,” Coroner Penfield had again re- 
sumed his seat. ‘What relation are you to Miss 
Katrina Baird?” 

“No relation, except by marriage.” Her voice, 
though low, held a carrying quality, and reached the 
ears of all in the room. “My, husband is her second 
cousin.” 

“Have you known her long?” 

“Since my marriage to her cousin, six months 
ago,” briefly. 

“Did you know her aunt. Miss Susan Baird?” 

71 


The Cat's Paw 


“Oh, yes, very well. We frequently took Sunday 
dinner with them.’’ 

‘"Did you ever hear Miss Susan Baird express a 
dislike for any particular person ?” 

Nina shoolc her head, while a faint smile drew 
down the corners of her pretty mouth. “Miss Susan 
disliked a great many people,” she said. “Me, among 
them. In fact, I never heard her make a compli- 
mentary remark about any one.” 

Penfield looked taken aback. “Miss Baird was ec- 
centric, was she not?” 

“Yes, not to say odd.” 

“Exactly what do you mean?” 

Nina raised her eyebrows and pursed up her 
mouth before answering. 

“If Miss Baird was calling upon friends and 
liked the tea cakes, she would open her bag and pour 
the cakes into it,” she explained. “If she was shop- 
ping downtown and grew weary, she would look 
about and if she saw a motor car belonging to any 
of her friends waiting at the curb, she would in- 
form the chauffeur he was to take her home. 
And — ” Mrs. Potter’s smile was most engaging, 
“Miss Baird always got her own way.” 

“Until her death — dryly. “It looked as if some 
one balked her there.” 

“Yes — and who was that some one?” questioned 
Mrs. Potter sweetly. 

72 


9 


Testimony 


Coroner Penfield concealed his annoyance under 
a pretense of hunting for a pencil among the papers 
on his table. While listening intently to the dialogue 
between Penfield and Mrs. Potter, Ted Rodgers had 
grown aware that Ben Potter was gnawing his nails. 
Rodgers loathed small noises. He was about to re- 
monstrate when Potter leaned back and whispered in 
his ear: 

‘T always told you Nina was clever; bless her 
heart 

Rodgers attempted no reply as he waited for 
Coroner Penfields’ next question. 

'^Did Miss Kitty Baird spend Sunday night at 
your apartment, Mrs. Potter?’’ asked Penfield. 

‘‘She did,” with quiet emphasis. “She came 
in time to help me serve tea in my husband’s studio, 
stayed to dinner, and retired early. We had break- 
fast at nine o’clock, after which she returned to 
Georgetown.” 

“That is all, Mrs. Potter, thank you,” and Pen- 
field assisted her down the steps, then turned aside 
to speak to Hume. “Recall Oscar Jackson,” he 
said. 

Mrs. Potter had almost .reached the door when it 
opened to admit Major Leigh Wallace. He failed 
to see her in his hurry to secure a seat vacated by 
an elderly woman who was just leaving and brushed 
by without greeting. Nina’s pretty color had van- 
73 


The Cats Taw 


ished when she reached her motor parked near the 
Morgue. She did not start the engine, however, 
upon entering the car but sat waiting with untiring 
patience for the inquest to adjourn. 

Nina's exit from the court room had been closely 
watched by two pairs of eyes. When Rodgers turned 
to speak to Potter, he found him sitting well back 
in his chair, and his whole attention centered on 
Major Leigh Wallace. The latter, entirely oblivious 
of the identity of the men and women about him, 
sat regarding the coroner and the jury while his 
restless fingers rolled a swagger stick held upright 
between the palms of his hands. 

Coroner Penfield hardly allowed the old negro 
servant time to take his seat again in the witness 
chair, before addressing him. 

‘‘What were Miss Baird and her niece. Miss Kitty, 
quarreling about on Sunday?” he asked. 

“W-w-what yo' ax?” Oscar's breath, such as he 
had left after his exertions in reaching the platform, 
deserted him, and he stared in dumb surprise at the 
coroner. 

“You have testified that you overheard Miss Baird 
and her niece quarreling,” Penfield spoke slowly and 
with emphasis. “What were they quarreling about ? 
Come,” as the old man remained silent. “We are 
awaiting your answer.” 

“Yessir.” Oscar ducked his head, and the whites 

74 


Testimony 


of his eyes showed plainly as he rolled them in 
fright, first toward the jury and then toward the 
coroner. ‘‘Yessir, ’twarn't much of a fuss; least- 
ways, it might o* been wuss, but Miss Kitty, she 
done jes’ walk upstairs.’’ 

“What was it about?” insisted Penfield. 

“Well ’er,” Oscar fingered his worn cap nerv- 
ously. “Miss Susan, she didn’t think much of some 
of Miss Kitty’s beaux — jes’ didn’t want her to get 
married nohow — ’specially that there Major Wallace. 
An’ she ups an’ tells Miss Kitty she mus’ get rid o’ 
him, or she would — ” 

'Would what—?” 

“Git rid o’ him,” explained Oscar. “Miss Susan 
jes’ despised him, even if he did lay himself out to 
please her.” 

“Was Major Wallace there on Sunday?” in- 
quired the coroner. 

“No, Sah.” With vigorous emphasis. “The 
Major ain’t been there for mos’ two weeks. Miss 
Susan and him had words.” 

“Ah, indeed. When?” 

“ ’Bout two weeks ago, p’r’aps longer. Major 
Wallace kep’ callin’, an’ Miss Susan up an’ tole him 
Miss Kitty couldn’t be bothered with his company.” 
Oscar came to a breathless pause. He had caught 
sight of a man leaving his seat and recognized 
Major Leigh Wallace. The next second the door 
75 


The Cats Taw 

had opened and closed behind Wallace’s retreating 
figure. 

Penfield’s stern voice recalled Oscar’s wandering 
wits. 

‘"Did you do the marketing on Saturday, Oscar?” 
he asked. 

“Yes, Sah.” Oscar spoke more cheerfully at the 
change of the topic, 

“Did you buy some peaches for Miss Baird?” 

“Deed, I didn’t, Sah. Miss Susan hadn’t no 
money to buy peaches at dis time o’ year,” Oscar’s 
voice expressed astonishment. “Dis hyar month 
am March.” 

“We have them from California.” Penfield was 
growing impatient, and his manner stiffened as he 
faced the old negro. “Who purchased the peaches 
which Miss Baird was eating just before she died?” 

“I dunno, Sah ; honest to God, I dunno.” Oscar 
shook a puzzled head. “I was flabbergasted to see 
them peaches on the tea table. They weren’t in the 
house when I was gettin’ dinner, an’ they weren’t 
there when I left after servin’ dinner.” 

“Is that so?” Penfield stared at Oscar. The 
black face of the negro was as shiny as a billiard 
ball and about as expressionless. “That is all, Oscar, 
you may retire.” 

Hardly waiting for the servant to descend the 
steps, Penfield turned to the deputy coroner whose 
76 


Testimony 

busy pen had been transcribing the notes of the in- 
quest. 

‘‘Dr. Fisher, take the stand,” he directed, and 
waited in silence while he was being sworn. 

“You performed the autopsy. Doctor?” he asked. 

“I did, Sir, in the presence of the Morgue Master 
and Dr. Leonard McLean,” responded the deputy 
coroner. 

“State the results of the autopsy.” 

“We found on investigation of the gastric con- 
tents that death was due to prussic acid, the most 
active of poisons,” Fisher replied, with blunt direct- 
ness. “There was no other cause of death, as from 
the condition of her body, we found Miss Baird, in 
spite of her age, did not suffer from any organic dis- 
ease.” 

The silence lengthened in the court room. Pen- 
field did not seem in haste to put the next question 
and the suspense deepened. 

“Can you estimate how long a time must have 
elapsed between Miss Baird taking the poison and 
her death ?” he asked finally. 

“Between two and five minutes, judging from the 
amount of poison in her system,” responded Fisher. 

“Can you tell us how the poison was administered. 
Doctor?” questioned Penfield. “Did you analyze 
the contents of the tea pot and cup?” 

“Yes. No trace of poison was in either the cup 

77 


The Cats Paw 


or the teapot/' Fisher spoke with deliberation, 
conscious that his words were listened to with breath- 
less interest. ‘There was on her plate a half-eaten 
peach on which still remained enough poison to kill 
several persons." 

Penfield broke the tense pause. 

“Have you any idea, Doctor, how the poison got 
on the peach ?" 

“On examination we found that drops of prussic 
acid still remained on the fruit knife used to cut the 
peach." Fisher hesitated a brief instant, then con- 
tinued, “The poison had been put on one side of the 
knife-blade only." 

“You mean — " 

“That whoever ate the other portion of the peach 
was not poisoned." 


CHAPTER VII 


MRS. PARSONS HAS CALLERS 

CORONER^S INQUEST RETURNS 
OPEN VERDICT 

Miss Susan Baird Killed by Party or 
Parties Unknown 

M rs. AMOS PARSONS laid down her 
evening newspaper and stared at her own 
reflection in the upright, silver-framed 
mirror standing on the table by her side. So ab- 
sorbing were her thoughts that she did not observe 
a velvet-footed servant remove the tea tray and carry 
off the soiled cups and saucers. The French clock 
on the high mantel of the drawing room had ticked 
away fully ten minutes before she stirred. With an 
indolent gesture of her hands, eminently character- 
istic, she dropped them in her lap and let her body 
relax against the tufted chair back. Her mirror 
told her that she needed rest ; the deep shadows un- 
der her eyes and her unusual pallor both emphasized 
the same story. She was very, very weary. 

79 


The Cafs Taw 


*^Beg pardon, Madam/’ The velvet-footed butler 
was back in the room again, silver salver in hand. 
‘‘A gentleman to see you.” 

Mrs. Parsons picked up the small visiting card 
and adjusting her lorgnette, inspected the engraved 
lettering it bore. 


MR. BENJAMIN POTTER 

Cosmos Club 


■ ‘Where is Mr. Potter,^” she asked. 

“In the reception room downstairs, madam. He 
said he was in a great hurry. Madam,” as she re- 
mained silent. “He asked particularly to see you.” 

“Very well; show him up. Wait — ” as the 
servant started for the doorway. “Bring Mr. Potter 
upstairs in the lift.” 

“Very good. Madam,” and, a second later, Mrs. 
Parsons was alone in her drawing room. 

Leaning forward, she looked about the beauti- 
fully furnished room, then, convinced that she was 
its only occupant, she opened her vanity case and 
selecting a lip-stick, applied it, and added a touch of 
rouge. Lastly a powder-puff removed all outward 
traces of restless hours and weary waiting. She 
8o 


Mrs, Parsons Has Callers 


had just time to slip the puff and lip-stick inside her 
vanity box before the portieres parted and Ben 
Potter hastened into the room. He stopped his 
rapid stride on catching sight of her and advanced 
more leisurely. 

‘‘Good evening, Cecilia,” he said, and paused in 
front of her. 

She appeared not to see his half-extended hand, 
as she laid down her cigarette. 

“Ah, Ben,” she remarked dryly. “I see that you 
still believe in the efficacy of a bribe.” 

“If it is big enough,” composedly. “Your servant 
said you had denied yourself to callers scy—voila 
tout** 

“And why this desire to see me ?” 

Potter did not reply at once; instead, he scruti- 
nized her intently. She was well worth a second 
glance. Her type of face belonged to the Eighteenth 
Century, and as she sat in her high-backed chair, 
her prematurely grey hair, artistically arranged, in 
pretty contrast to her delicately arched eyebrows, 
she resembled a French marquise of the court of 
Louis XIV. She bore Potter’s penetrating gaze 
with undisturbed composure. He was the first to 
shift his glance. 

“Suppose I take a chair and we talk things over,” 
he suggested. “You are not very cordial — to-night.” 

Mrs. Parsons smiled ironically. “Take a chair 
8i 


The Cafs Paw 


by all means ; that one by the door looks substantial. 
Now/* as he dragged it over and placed it directly 
in front of her. ''I will repeat my question — why 
do you wish to see me?** 

*‘You ask that — and a newspaper by your side!** 
Potter pointed contemptuously at the paper lying on 
the floor. ‘‘Have you seen Kitty Baird since the 
inquest?** 

Mrs. Parsons shook her head. “There was hardly 
time for her to get here; besides she must be very 
weary, not to say — unstrung.** She held out her 
cigarette case, but Potter waved it away, making no 
effort politely to restrain his impatience. “So dear 
Miss Susan Baird was poisoned after all.*’ 

“And why ‘after all* ?** swiftly. “Why ^dear Miss 
Susan*?** 

A shrug of her shapely shoulders answered him. 
“You are always so intense, Ben,** she remarked. 
“Why not ‘dear Miss Susan* ? Had you any reason 
to dislike your cousin?** 

“Had any one any reason to like her?** he asked 
gruffly. “You don*t need to be told that.** His 
smile had little mirth in it. “The poor soul is dead — 
murdered.** He looked at her queerly. “How much 
does Kitty see of Major Leigh Wallace?*’ 

Mrs. Parsons selected another cigarette with care. 
“So that is the reason I am honored by a visit from 
you.** Tossing back her head, she inspected him 
82 


Mrs. Parsons Has Callers 


from head to foot. “How am I qualified to answer 
your question? I am not Kitty’s guardian.” 

“No, but you are her employer,” with quiet em- 
phasis. “And Major Wallace is a frequent caller 
here.” 

“Is he?” Her smile was enigmatical. “May I ask 
the reason of your sudden interest in Major Wal- 
lace?” 

Potter colored hotly. “That is my affair,” he 
retorted. “Were you at the Baird inquest this morn- 
ing?” 

“No.” 

“Have you read the newspaper account of it?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what is your opinion?” 

She shook her head. “I have formed none.” 

“Oh, come !” Potter smiled skeptically, then 
frowned. “Kitty must be safeguarded,” he an- 
nounced with gruff abruptness. 

“From Major Wallace? — ” 

“Perhaps—” 

She considered him a moment in silence. Potter’s 
big frame did not show to best advantage in his 
sack suit which betrayed the need of sponging and 
pressing. The naturalist seldom gave a thought to 
his personal appearance. 

“How is your wife?’* she asked. 

Potter started a trifle at the abrupt quesdon. 

83 


The Cat’s Paw 


‘^Quite well/’ he replied. **But a bit fagged after 
the inquest. She was one of the witnesses, you 
know.” 

‘^And you—” 

‘'I was not called by the coroner,” shortly. “Ted 
Rodgers and I sat together in the court room. He’s 
a good chap, Ted — promised Kitty to help trace her 
aunt’s murderer.” 

The pupils of Mrs. Parsons’ eyes contracted. “I 
did not realize that they were on such terms of in- 
timacy,” she remarked, and her voice had grown 
sharper. “Do you think Mr. Rodgers will have a 
difficult task?” 

Potter ran his fingers through his untidy grey 
hair. “That remains to be seen,” he replied. “So 
far, all that we know is that my cousin. Miss Susan 
Baird, was poisoned with prussic acid.” 

“Is that all the police know ?” she questioned rap- 
idly. 

He did not answer immediately, his attention 
apparently centered on the newspaper which lay 
folded so that the headlines were in view 

Coroner’s Inquest Returns Open Verdict 

“It is all that the police will admit knowing,” he 
said at last. “I must remind you that you have not 
84 


Mrs. Parsons Has Callers 


answered my question: how often does Kitty see 
Major Wallace?^’ 

''I am unable to tell you.” There was a touch of 
insolence in her manner and his eyes sparkled with 
anger. ‘T do not keep tab on Kitty — ” their glances 
crossed — "‘and I don't intend to.” 

Potter hesitated a second, then rose. “It was 
good of you to see me,” he announced. His tone 
was perfunctory. “My interest in Kitty prompted 
the visit.” He stooped over and picked up a glove 
which had slipped from his restless fingers to the 
floor. “Good-by. Don't trouble to ring for James ; 
I know my way out.” 

But Mrs. Parsons was already half across the 
room and her finger touched the electric button with 
some force. James was a trifle out of breath when 
he reached them. 

“Take Mr. Potter down in the lift,” she directed. 
“Good evening, Ben,” and with a slight, graceful 
gesture, she dismissed him. 

Once more back in her chair Mrs. Parsons settled 
down in comfort and permitted her thoughts to 
wander far afield. It was not often that she allowed 
herself to dwell on the past. 

“So Ted Rodgers is taking a hand in the game,” 
she murmured, unconscious that she spoke aloud. 
“And Ben Potter is interested in — Kitty.” Putting 
back her head, she laughed heartily. She was still 

85 


The Cats Taw 


chuckling to herself when James, the butler, came 
in to announce dinner. 

Dinner with Mrs. Parsons was a formal affair 
even when alone, and she looked with approval at 
the spotless linen, the burnished silver, and glittering 
glass. She thoroughly appreciated her butler’s taste 
in table decoration. Domestic troubles, which vexed 
other women, never touched her household. She 
had one theory which she always put into practice — 
to pay her servants just a little more than her 
neighbors gave their domestics, and it was seldom 
that they left her employ. 

Washington society had found that Mrs. Parsons 
was wealthy enough to indulge in her whims, and, 
bringing, as she did, letters of introduction from 
far-off California to influential residents of the na- 
tional Capital, she had been entertained at houses 
to which newcomers frequently waited for years to 
gain the entree. Well gowned, handsome rather 
than pretty, quick of wit, Mrs. Parsons soon at- 
tained a place for herself in the kaleidoscopic life 
of the cosmopolitan city, and, giving up her suite of 
rooms at the New Willard had, three months before, 
purchased a house on fashionable Wyoming Avenue. 

On taking possession of what she termed her 
maisonnette f Mrs. Parsons decided that she had need 
of a social secretary. Kitty Baird had been highly 
recommended for the post by Charles Craige, and, 
86 


Mrs. Parsons Has Callers 


after much urging on the part of both Mrs. Parsons 
and her godfather, Kitty had resigned her clerkship 
in the Department of State, which she had held 
during the World War, and taken up her secretarial 
duties. 

And Kitty had been of genuine aid to her em- 
ployer, as Mrs. Parsons acknowledged to herself if 
to no one else — she was chary of spoken praise. 
Kitty had not only an accurate knowledge of social 
life in Washington, having enjoyed belleship since 
her first *'tea dance’’ at Rauscher’s which one of her 
aunt’s old friends had given in her honor, but pos- 
sessed unbounded tact and a kindly heart. Her aunt, 
Miss Susan Baird, had seen to it that she was well 
educated and thoroughly grounded in French and 
German. Having a natural gift for languages, Kitty 
had put her early training to good account in her 
war work as a translator and code expert. 

To James’ secret distress, Mrs. Parsons partook 
but indifferently of the deliciously cooked dinner, 
even refusing dessert which, to his mind, was in- 
explicable. 

'"Has Miss Kitty Baird telephoned at any time 
to-day?” she asked, laying down her napkin. 

''No, Madam.” James concealed his surprise. 
It was not like Mrs. Parsons to repeat herself, and to 
his best recollection, and he had a good memory, she 
had asked that same question at least a dozen times. 

87 


The Cat's Paw 


"'Will you have coffee served in the drawing room, 
Madam?’’ 

"I don’t care for coffee to-night, thanks.” Mrs. 
Parsons picked up her scarf and rose. "Tell Anton 
that if any one calls this evening, I am at 
home.” 

"Very good, Madam,” and James held back the 
portieres for her as she left the room. 

Mrs. Parsons did not return to the drawing room ; 
instead she made her way to the "den” at the end of 
the hall, a pretty square room, which served as a 
lounge and library. Once there she paused by the 
telephone stand and laid her hand on the instru- 
ment. 

"West, 789.” She was forced to repeat the num- 
ber several times before Central got it correctly. 

There was a brief wait, then came the answer, 
"Line disconnected, ma’am,” and she heard Central 
ring off. Mrs. Parsons put down the instrument 
in bewildered surprise. "Why had Kitty Baird’s 
telephone been disconnected?” She was still con- 
sidering the puzzle as she rearranged some "brides- 
maids’ roses” in a vase. By it lay a note in Charles 
Craige’s fine penmanship. Picking up the note, Mrs. 
Parsons read it for perhaps the twentieth time. 

It ran : 


88 


Mrs. Parsons Has Callers 


My precious Cecelia: 

I am disconsolate that I cannot dine with you to- 
night. I have promised to see Kitty — poor girl, she 
needs all the S3mipathy and help we can give her. 
Miss me just a little and I shall be contented. My 
thoughts are with you always. 

Ever faithfully, 

Charles Craige. 

“Beg pardon. Madam.” James the obsequious 
stood in the room, card tray in hand. “Major Leigh 
Wallace is waiting for you in the drawing room.” 

Mrs. Parsons folded the note and slipped it in- 
side her knitting bag. “Ask Major Wallace to 
come here,” she said, pausing to switch on a floor 
lamp, the light from which cast a becoming glow on 
her as she selected a chair beside it, and took up her 
embroidery. 

“Ah, Leigh, good evening,” she exclaimed a mo- 
ment later as the young officer stood by her. “Have 
you come to make your peace with me?” 

“In what way have I offended?” Wallace asked. 

“You were so rude to one of my guests at my 
tea yesterday.” Mrs. Parsons watched him as he 
made himself comfortable in a dainty settee under 
the lamp. 

“Rude to one of your guests? Impossible!” 

89 


The Cat's Paw 

ejaculated Wallace in surprise. “To whom do you 
refer 

“Nina Potter.’’ Mrs. Parsons had not taken her 
eyes off him, and she caught the sudden shifting of 
his gaze. “Why are you and she no longer friendly?” 

“You are mistaken.” Wallace spoke stiffly. “We 
are — I am still a great admirer of hers — ” 

“And Kitty—” 

Wallace flushed to the roots of his sandy hair. 
“Kitty never had very much use for me,” he ad- 
mitted, rather bitterly, “f he — she — seems to be 
tired—” 

“Of being a cat’s paw?” 

“Mrs. Parsons!” Wallace was on his feet, his 
eyes snapping with anger. 

“Don’t go,” Mrs. Parsons’ smile was ingratiat- 
ing. “Forgive me if I blunder, Leigh. Sometimes 
an outsider sees most of the game. Will you take a 
friendly piece of advice — ” 

“Surely,” but Wallace was slow in reseating him- 
self. 

“Then avoid Ben Potter.” Mrs. Parsons picked 
up her neglected embroidery, and did not trouble to 
glance at her guest. 

Wallace’s attempt at a laugh was something of a 
failure. “I saw Potter an hour ago at the club,” he 
volunteered. “He told me that he and his wife were 
leaving for New York to-night.” 

90 


Mrs. F arsons Has Callers 


''Indeed.” Mrs. Parsons held her needle nearer 
the light and threaded it with deft fingers. "Is 
Kitty Baird going with them?” 

"I believe not.” Wallace moved a trifle and 
shaded his face with his hand. "Pve just come from 
‘Rose Hill.’ ” 

‘'And how is Kitty? Did you see her?” Mrs. 
Parsons spoke with such rapidity that her questions 
ran together. 

"No.” Wallace compressed his lips. "She sent 
down word that she I gged to be excused.” 

"Oh !” Mrs. Parsons lowered her embroidery and 
regarded her companion. He looked wretchedly ill, 
and the haggard lines were deeper than ever. For 
a man of his height and breadth of shoulder, he 
seemed to have shrunken, for his clothes appeared 
to hang upon him. Dwelling on his ill health would 
not tend to lessen Wallace’s nervous condition, and 
Mrs. Parsons omitted personalities. "Were you at 
the Baird inquest?” she inquired. 

"Yes, that is, I got there late — ” stumbling some- 
what in his speech. "Why don’t you go and see 
Kitty, Cecelia? That house of hers is sort of 
ghastly — ” 

"For any one who suffers from nerves,” she put 
in, and he flushed at the irony of her tone, "Kitty 
has plenty of courage. I — ” she smiled. "I am in- 
91 


The Cat's Taw 


dined to think that Kitty has inherited some of her 
aunt’s prejudices — ” 

“She couldn’t inherit any likes — that abominable 
aunt of hers hated everybody.” Wallace spoke 
with such bitter feeling that Mrs. Parsons restrained 
a smile with difficulty. 

“Poor Kitty,” her tone was full of sympathy. “I 
am glad she has Ted Rodgers to lean on.” 

Wallace flushed angrily. “He’s the one who has 
made all the trouble,” he began. “If it hadn’t been 
for his — ” 

“What?” as Wallace came to an abrupt halt. 

“Oh, nothing.” Wallace beat the devil’s tattoo 
on the chair arm. “I must be going, Cecelia. It’s a 
beastly bore having to turn in early, but I must obey 
the doctor’s orders.” 

“You certainly should take better care of your- 
self.” Mrs. Parsons walked with Wallace to the 
door of the room. The house was an English base- 
ment in design, and as they came to the top of the 
flight of steps leading to the ground floor, Wallace 
held out his hand. It felt feverish to the touch and 
Mrs. Parsons regarded him with growing concern. 
“Stop and see Dr. McLean on your way home,” she 
advised. 

“I’m all right.” Wallace laughed recklessly. 
“Don’t worry, I take a lot of killing. Good night.” 
And, squeezing her hand until the pressure forced 
92 


Mrs. Parsons Has Callers 


her rings into the tender skin, he released it and ran 
down the steps. 

Mrs. Parsons lingered long enough to hear James 
assisting Wallace into his overcoat and then went 
thoughtfully into her drawing room. The footman 
had left one of the window shades up and Mrs. Par- 
sons paused to pull it down. The street was well 
lighted from the electric lamp opposite her doorway, 
and, as she stood idly looking out of the window, 
she saw Major Leigh Wallace start to cross the street, 
hesitate at the curb, turn to his left and walk east- 
ward. He had gone but a short distance when Mrs. 
Parsons saw a man slip out from the doorway of 
the next house and start down the street after 
Wallace. Halfway down the block Wallace crossed 
the street and without glancing backward continued 
on his way, his shadow at his heels. 

Mrs. Parsons watched them out of sight, her eyes 
big with suppressed excitement. When she finally 
pulled down the window shade her hand was not 
quite steady. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE CASE OF THE GILA MONSTER 
NAWARE that he had a place in Mrs. 



Parsons* meditations as well as in her con- 


versation with Major Leigh Wallace, Ted 
Rogers parked his car near the entrance to ‘‘Rose 
Hill.** His ring at the front door bell was answered 
by Mandy, the ebony shadow of Oscar, her husband. 

“Kin yo’ see Miss Kitty?** She repeated the 
question after him. “Why, I *spect yo* kin, Mister 
Rodgers. Jes* step inside, Sah, an* 1*11 go find Miss 
Kitty.** 

Closing the front door and putting up the night 
latch with much jingling, Mandy led Rodgers down 
the hall to the entrance of the library. 

“The lamps am lighted in hyar,** she said by way 
of explanation. “Ole Miss never used to let Miss 
Kitty have a light in de odder rooms on dis flo*, 
cept when Oscar was a-servin* dinner. An* we all 
got so we jes* never thought o* carryin* a lamp into 


94 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


de parlor. Make yo’self comfortable, Sah, Til tell 
Miss Kitty an’ she’ll be down terec’ly.” 

With a word of thanks Rodgers passed the old 
servant and entered the library. The light from the 
two oil lamps was supplemented by a cheerful fire 
in the brick chimney at the farther end of the room, 
and its cheerful glow did much to dispel the dreary 
atmosphere which prevailed. 

Rodgers did not at once sit down. Instead he 
paused in the center of the library and gravely re- 
garded the tea table and the throne-shaped chair 
where he had frequently seen Miss Susan Baird sit- 
ting when entertaining guests at tea. He had a 
retentive memory, and as his eyes roved about the 
library, he pieced out the scene of the discovery of 
the dead woman as described on the witness stand 
by Inspector Mitchell. 

As far as Rodgers could judge, no change had 
been made in the room, except in the arrangement of 
the tea table. The soiled dishes and tea cups had 
been removed, the tea service cleaned and put back, 
and the fruit dish, of Royal Dresden china of ancient 
pattern, was empty. Forgetful of the passing time, 
he wandered about examining with keen attention 
the fine oil paintings of dead and gone Bairds, the 
camels’ hair shawls which had been converted into 
portieres, the Persian rugs on the hardwood floor. 
95 


The Caf s Taw 

What matter that all showed traces of wear and tear ? 
The room was cleanliness personified. 

Genteel poverty — his surroundings cried of it. 
Rodgers thought, with a tightening of his heart- 
strings, of Kitty’s brave endeavor to keep up the old 
home and provide her aunt with every comfort with- 
in her means. And her aunt had been murdered. 
Murdered! He shook his head in bewilderment. 
What possible motive could have inspired such a 
crime? Who would murder a poverty-stricken old 
woman? Avarice — where was the gain? Re- 
venge — for what? Hate — why hate a feeble old 
woman? There remained robbery as a possible 
motive. Could it be that? 

Rodgers crossed over to the ‘^Dutch’’ door and 
examined it with interest. Neither its lock nor its 
solid panels gave indication of having been forced 
open. From the door his attention passed to the 
three small windows, placed just under the flooring 
of the gallery; they appeared tightly closed and re- 
sisted his efforts to move them. The library gained 
its chief light in the daytime from the skylight and 
the windows opening upon the gallery. 

Turning around, Rodgers stood hesitating, his 
head slightly bent to catch the faintest sound. He 
had heard, some moments before, Mandy’s halting 
footsteps as she came limping down the staircase, 
then along the hall to the basement stairs, and the 
96 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


shutting of the door after her descending figure. He 
looked at his watch; ten minutes had elapsed since 
his arrival and still Kitty had not appeared. Surely 
she would have sent word by Mandy if she had not 
wished him to wait? He took from his pocket a 
crumpled note and smoothed it out. The act had 
become a habit. He did not need to read the few 
lines penned on the paper — he knew them by heart. 

Come to-night. I must see you. K. B. 

He had obeyed the summons eagerly. Kitty had 
asked him to find out who killed her aunt. And the 
inquest had brought out what? — that Miss Susan 
Baird had come to her death through poison ad- 
ministered by a party or parties unknown. It had 
also disclosed the fact that the last person to see 
Miss Susan alive was Kitty Baird, and Oscar had 
testified that aunt and niece had quarreled that fatal 
Sunday afternoon — ovet* Major Leigh Wallace. 
Rodgers whitened at the thought. Were Kitty and 
Wallace really engaged, as he had been given to un- 
derstand by no less a person than Ben Potter? If 
so, he cut a sorry figure dancing attendance upon 
Kitty. She had grown to be all in all to him. It 
was a case of the moth and the candle. Rodgers 
smiled wryly ; he could not tear himself away, even 
if he would, and she had asked him to aid her! 
97 


The Caf s Paw 


Rodgers squared his shoulders. As soon as the 
mystery of Miss Susan Baird^s death was solved, he 
would leave Washington and give Wallace a clear 
field. Kitty was entitled to happiness. 

Tired of inaction, harassed by his thought, 
Rodgers tramped about the room and finally paused 
in front of the fireplace. Mouchette, Kitty’s Angora 
cat, rolled over at his approach and yawned sleepily. 
She had awakened at his entrance, but the comfort 
of an excellent dinner and the heat of the fire had 
proven too strong to keep her awake, and she had 
curled up again and gone to sleep. 

The hearth was set far back and two benches 
were framed on either hand by the walls of the 
chimney. They looked inviting, and, after giving 
Mouchette a final pat, Rodgers dropped down on one 
of the benches, his broad back braced across the 
corner of the wall, while his long legs were stretched 
out toward the fire burning so briskly on the hearth. 
He watched the play of the firelight with unconscious 
intensity, his mind picturing Kitty’s alluring per- 
sonality. A log broke and as the burning embers 
struck the hearth, sparks flew out and upward. One 
landed on the bench on which Rodgers was sitting 
and he leaned forward to knock it back upon the 
hearth. As his hand struck the bench a glancing 
blow, he felt the wood give and the next instant he 
was gazing into a small hole. 

98 


The Case of the Gila Monster 

Rodgers stared at it in deep surprise. Bending 
closer he saw that he must have touched a concealed 
spring which released the trap-door. It was not a 
large cavity into which he peered, hardly a foot deep 
and about six inches square, or so he judged in the 
fitful glow of the fire. He sat for a moment per- 
fectly still, then drawing out his matchbox, struck 
a light and held it carefully so that its rays fell 
directly into the small hole. It was empty except for 
a medium-sized brass key to which was tied a small 
tag. Bending nearer, he made out the scrawled lines 
with some difficulty : 

This key unlocks the inside drawer of the high- 
boy in the blue room on the fourth floor. 

A bell reverberating through the silent house 
caused Rodgers to spring up and look into the hall, 
in time to see Mandy emerge from behind the door 
leading to the basement stairs and make her way to 
the front of the house. A murmur of voices reached 
Rodgers, then a firm, tread sounded down the un- 
carpeted hall, and parting the portieres Charles 
Craige walked into the library. 

*'Hello, Rodgers,” he exclaimed in hearty greet- 
ing. ‘‘Mandy told me that you were here. Have 
you seen Kitty?” 

“Not yet.” Rodgers shook Craige’s hand with 

99 


The Cat's Paw 


vigor. He had grown to like and admire the brilliant 
lawyer whose many acts of kindness had added to 
the enjoyment of his visit. Besides, and Rodgers’ 
eyes glowed, was he not Kitty’s godfather! 

“Trust Kitty to keep a man waiting,” and Craige 
smiled as he spoke, then grew grave. “This is a 
devilish bad business — not to say shocking. Poor 
Susan — the last person in the world whose death 
would have been of benefit to any one, and yet she 
was murdered.” 

“If we are to believe th^ medical evidence, yes,” 
replied Rodgers. “Poison can be administered with 
murderous intent, but we must also remember that 
it can be taken with the intent to commit suicide.” 

“True.” Craige chose a seat at some distance from 
the throne-shaped chair. “But I cannot associate 
either murder or suicide with Susan. I tell you, 
Rodgers, Susan had an intense desire to live, and I 
can conceive of no one wishing for her death suf- 
ficiently to face the gallows.” 

“But the fact remains that she either did away 
with herself or was cold-bloodedly murdered,” re- 
torted Rodgers. 

Craige nodded his head moodily. “If murder, it 
was cold-blooded, premeditated murder,” he agreed. 
“Hush, here comes Kitty.” 

A door had opened on the gallery and Kitty ap- 
peared from her bedroom, stood for a moment 
lOO 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


hesitating, then hurrying forward she almost ran 
down the short flight of steps to the library. She 
paused by the newel post as both men advanced to 
meet her. 

am so glad you are here,’^ she exclaimed, ex- 
tending her hands impulsively to each. *'It has been 
so dreadful — alone.” 

Craige laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder 
and patted her gently as he kissed her. “We under- 
stand,” he said. “Now, what can we do for you?” 

Rodgers^ who still held Kitty’s hand in both of 
his, released it reluctantly. He was slow of speech, 
but his eyes, meeting Kitty’s gaze, conveyed a mes- 
sage all their own. As Kitty preceded them across 
the library, a warm blush mantled her cheeks. 

“Sit here, Miss Baird.” Rodgers placed a chair 
for her near the chimney while Craige pulled for- 
ward two others. Grateful for the warmth from 
the fire, for her bedroom was insufficiently heated, 
Kitty stretched out her hands to the blaze. 

“Why is your telephone disconnected, Kitty?” 
asked Craige, after a brief silence which neither 
Kitty or Rodgers made any attempt to break. 

“We were deluged with calls,” she explained. 
“Especially the newspaper reporters.” She shivered 
slightly. “They gave Mandy no rest.” 

“But to cut yourself off from your friends, Kitty, 
lOI 


The Caf s Taw 


was that wise?'' chided Craige gently. ‘‘No one 
could reach you — I tried and failed." 

“It did not stop your coming over to ask for me," 
she put in gratefully. “Ben and Nina Potter stopped 
for a second before dinner. They left for New 
York to-night." 

“Indeed ?'' Craige frowned. “They should have 
remained here with you," noting with concern the 
dark shadows under her eyes and the forlorn droop 
to her usually erect shoulders. “You must not stay 
here alone." 

“But I am not alone," she protested. “Dear, faith- 
ful Mandy is with me." 

Craige shook his head, unsatisfied. “Mandy is 
an ignorant colored woman, old at that," he re- 
marked. “You must have companionship — woman’s 
companionship of your own class. Why not ask 
Cecilia Parsons ?" 

“Oh, I would not think of asking her,” Kitty ob- 
jected quickly. “She is so — so sensitive, so — " 
hunting about for the proper word. “Oh, the house, 
all this — would get frightfully on her nerves.” 

At mention of Mrs. Parsons' name, Rodgers 
glanced from one to the other, finally letting his gaze 
rest on the lawyer’s kindly, clever face. He had 
heard the rumor connecting the pretty widow’s 
name with Charles Craige, and that reports of their 
engagement persisted, in spite of Mrs. Parsons’ 
102 


The Case of the Gila Monster 

laughing denial and Craige’s skillfully evasive an- 
swers to all questions on the subject. 

''As you please, Kitty,” replied Craige. “But I 
think that you are wrong not to ask Mrs. Parsons. 
She would not hesitate to tell you if she did not wish 
to come. She is frankness itself.” 

Kitty raised her eyebrows and a ghost of a smile 
crossed her lips. “Mrs. Parsons is always most 
kind,” she remarked, “but I prefer not to tax her 
friendship.” 

The look Craige cast in her direction was a bit 
sharp, and with some abruptness he changed the 
subject. 

“Were you wise to have your aunt’s body put in 
the vault this afternoon, Kitty?” he asked. “Did 
you not overtax your strength? You look so utterly 
weary.” 

“I am stronger that I appear.” Kitty passed her 
hand across her eyes. “I could see no object in 
waiting. Coroner Penfield suggested that we have 
simple funeral ceremonies immediately after the in- 
quest. I tried to get word to you, but failed. It was 
but prolonging the agony to wait — ” with a catch 
in her throat, “there was nothing to be gained by 
waiting. It would not bring her back. Oh, poor 
Aunt Susan!” And bowing her head Kitty gave 
vent to the tears she had held back for many, many 
hours. 


103 


The Cat's Taw 


Rodgers watched her in unhappy silence. Could 
he find nothing to say — do nothing to comfort her? 
He half rose impulsively to his feet — caught Craige’s 
eye and sat down again. Craige leaned forward 
and put his arms about the weeping girl and soothed 
her with loving words. When she grew more com- 
posed, he rose and paced up and down the library. 

‘‘Had I not better call Mandy and let her put you 
to bed, Kitty?” he asked, stopping by her chair. 
“You can see us to-morrow when you are more 
composed.” 

“No, wait.” Kitty sat up and attempted to smile. 
“I am all right, now. Is it true, as the papers said, 
that Aunt Susan died from poison placed on a peach 
she was eating?” 

“If we are to believe the medical evidence, yes. 
Chemical tests proved that prussic acid still remained 
on one side of the blade of the fruit knife used to 
cut the peach.” 

Kitty shuddered. “Who could have planned so 
diabolical a murder?” she demanded. 

“That is for us to find out.” Kitty looked up 
quickly at sound of Rodgers^ clear voice. “Tell me, 
Miss Baird, have you no idea where the peaches 
came from?” 

“Not the slightest,” she shook her head. “I am 
positive there were no peaches in the house when I 
left here Sunday afternoon. They are very ex- 
104 


The Case of the Gila Monster 

pensive at this season of the year and,” with down- 
right frankness, ‘'we could not afford to buy them, 
although Aunt Susan was inordinately fond of 
them.” 

“Some one must have sent the peaches who was 
aware of your aunt’s liking for the fruit,” Craige 
remarked thoughtfully. “Had she spoken of peaches 
to any of your friends lately?” 

“Friends!” Kitty looked at him with dawning 
horror. “You don’t think — ^you don’t mean that a 
friend killed Aunt Susan?” She thrust out her 
hands as if warding off some frightful nightmare. 
“No, no. It was a housebreaker — a common, or- 
dinary housebreaker.” 

“It may have been a housebreaker,” agreed 
Rodgers, soothingly. “But it was one with the 
knowledge that the flavor of a peach would disguise 
the taste of prussic acid.” 

“Kitty,” Craige spoke with deep seriousness. 
“You must realize that this murder of your aunt 
was a deliberately planned crime. Burglars don’t 
go around carrying bottles of prussic acid in their 
pockets. Also, there is one point of especial signifi- 
cance — ^but one side of the knife blade had poison 
on it.” 

“You mean — ?” She questioned him with 

frightened eyes. 

“That some one whom your aunt knew must have 

105 


The Cat's Taw 


been taking tea with her, and in administering the 
poison saw to it that his side of the peach was harm- 
less/^ Craige responded. 

Kitty looked at the two men dumbly. Craige had 
put into words what she had dimly realized. 

/‘It is dreadful!’’ she gasped. “What possible 
motive could have inspired her murder?” 

Craige looked at Rodgers, then drawing out his 
leather wallet he selected a newspaper clipping and 
ran his eyes down the printed column. 

“Tell us, Kitty,” and his voice was coaxing. “Is it 
true that you and your aunt quarreled on Sunday as 
Oscar testified?” 

Kitty blanched arfd her eyes shifted from Rodgers 
to the glowing embers on the hearth. 

“It wasn’t a quarrel,” she declared faintly. “Aunt 
Susan and I had a few words — ” 

“Yes,” prompted Craige. “A few words about 
what ?” 

“About money matters.” Kitty did not look at 
either man. Rodgers’ heart sank. Oscar had also 
testified that the quarrel was about Major Leigh 
Wallace. Could it be that Kitty was prevaricating? 
He put the thought from him. Oscar must have 
lied. 

“About money matters,” Craig repeated, return- 
ing the clipping and wallet to his pocket. “Then 
io6 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


why did you not tell that to Coroner Penfield when 
he questioned you in the witness stand 

‘‘It wasn’t his business — it had nothing to do with 
Aunt Susan’s death,” she stated incoherently. 
“And,” with a slow, painful blush, “our poverty, 
our painful economies were bad enough without dis- 
cussing them in public.” 

“Oh !” Craige cast a doubtful look at Rodgei >, 
but the latter’s expressionless face gave the keen- 
witted lawyer no clue as to his opinion of Kitty’s 
statement. “Kitty, were you your aunt’s nearest 
relative?” 

“Yes. Beit Potter is a second couisn, I believe.” 
Kitty paused. “Ben has not been here very much 
lately.” 

“Since Iws marriage, you mean?” asked Craige. 

Kitty glanced up and then away. “Yes. Aunt 
Susan poked fun at him at the time of his marriage, 
said she did not care for ‘poor whites,’ and Ben was 
very angry.” 

“Was there ever an open quarrel?” 

“Oh, no. Outwardly, they were good friends; 
and they dined here usually once a month,” Kitty 
explained. “But relations were strained a little bit.” 

“Could you not make Ben and Nina a visit when 
they return from New York?” asked Craige. 

“I can, if I wish,” with quick resentment. “But 
I prefer to stay in this house.” 

107 


THe Cat’s Paw 


‘‘Just a moment, Kitty,’* Craige held up a cau- 
tioning hand. “This house belonged to your aunt, 
did it not?” 

“Yes. But I — ” she hesitated. “I ran the house 
with the money I earned. I can still do that.” 

“True, if the house is left to you.” Kitty stared 
at her godfather aghast. “Did your aunt leave her 
will in your care?” 

“No.” 

“Did she ever speak to you of a will ?” 

“No ; she never mentioned the subject.” 

Craige looked at her thoughtfully. “It may be 
that your aunt made no will,” he said finally. “I 
transacted such legal matters as she brought to me, 
but I never drew up a will.” 

“But as Miss Baird is her aunt’s nearest living 
relative, would she not inherit her aunt’s property?” 
asked Rodgers. 

“Possibly ; but Ben Potter may claim his share of 
the estate,” the lawyer pointed out. 

“Estate!” broke in Kitty with a nervous laugh. 
“Poor Aunt Susan had only this house and its de- 
lapidated furniture. Ben is welcome to his share.” 

“Just a moment,” Craige interrupted in his turn. 
“Your aunt must have left a will or some legal docu- 
ment regarding the disposal of her property. She 
had a great habit of tucking her papers away. You 
recollect our search for the tax receipts, Kitty?” 
io8 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


Kitty’s face brightened into one of her mis- 
chievous smiles, while her eyes twinkled. 

‘^Aunt Susan was secretive,” she acknowledged. 
“It was a case of searching for lump sugar even, 
when she was in the mood for hiding things.” 

“Hiding!” Rodgers rose to his feet and his eyes 
sought the bench where he had found the trap-door. 
“Come here. Miss Baird,” and he beckoned them to 
approach. “I opened that by accident just before 
Mr. Craige arrived — see.” 

Kitty slipped her hand inside the cavity and drew 
out the key. 

“I remember the trap-door,” she said. “If you 
press on a spring concealed in one of the boards, 
the door drops inward. But what does this tag 
mean?” and they read the words aloud: 

This key unlocks the inside drawer of the highboy 
in the blue room on the fourth floor. 

“Let us go and see what it means,” suggested 
Rodgers, and Craige nodded his agreement. 

“Lead the way, Kitty,” he added. “Do you need 
a lamp?” 

“There is a candlestick outside my bedroom door, 
and we can light the gas jets as we go through the 
halls,” she replied. 

Pausing only long enough to pick up several small 
109 


The Cat's Paw 


match boxes, she led the way out of the library and 
up the long staircase. A light was burning dimly 
in the first hall and Rodgers turned it up before 
following Kitty and her godfather to the next story. 
From there they hurried to the fourth floor, Kitty’s 
candle but intensifying the darkness. 

The stuffy atmosphere of a room long unused 
greeted them as they entered a large square room 
facing the front of the house. With the aid of her 
candle, Kitty located the one gas jet and by its 
feeble rays they looked about them. The room 
evidently obtained its name from its faded blue wall 
paper. The old four-post bed and the massive 
mahogany furniture belonged to another and richer 
generation, but Rodgers had no time to investigate 
its beauties, his attention being focussed on a high- 
boy standing near one of the windows. Kitty again 
read the message on the tag before approaching the 
highboy. 

‘The inside drawer,” she repeated. “What does 
she mean?” 

For answer Rodgers pulled open the nearest 
drawer. It was filled with old finery, and after 
tumbling its contents about, Kitty closed it. 

“Try the next,” suggested Craige. The second 
drawer proved equally unproductive of result, and 
it was with growing discouragement that they went 
through the next three and found them also unin- 


IIO 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


teresting. On pulling out the last drawer Kitty 
found it arranged as a writing desk. 

‘‘I have seen this kind before,” Rodgers felt along 
the front of the drawer ; there was a faint click and 
the front woodwork swung aside, disclosing an in- 
side drawer. 

Kitty slipped the key she was carrying into the 
lock. It turned with a slight squeaking sound, show- 
ing the need of oil, and Kitty drew open the drawer. 
Inside it lay another brass key also tagged. 

‘What does it say?” she asked as Rodgers picked 
it up. 

He read: 

This key unlocks the lower left hand drawer of 
the sideboard in the dining room. 

“Is that your aunt's handwriting?” 

“Yes.” Kitty looked as mystified as she felt. 
“Shall we go downstairs and look in the sideboard ?” 

“Of course.” As he spoke, Craige started for 
the door. It took them but a few minutes to reach 
the dining room, and it was with a sense of rising 
excitement that Kitty unlocked the “lower left hand 
drawer” of the sideboard. 

“Good gracious ! Another key !” she gasped, and 
held it up so that both men could read the tag tied 
to it. 


Ill 


The Caf s Paw 

The message ran: 

This key unlocks the linen trunk in the attic. 

‘‘Upon my word your aunt outdid herself T* ex- 
claimed Craige. “Come, Kitty, as long as we have 
started this investigation, we must complete it/* 

Not having anticipated having to return to the 
top of the house, Rodgers had carefuly put out all 
the lights, and relighting the gas jets delayed them 
somewhat. Kitt/s candle had almost burned itself 
out when they entered the cold and unfriendly attic. 
No gas pipes had been placed thei^e, and Rodgers 
was thankful that his electric torch, which he car- 
ried when motoring at night, was in his pocket. By 
its rays Kitty recognized the old-fashioned brass- 
bound hair trunk in which her aunt had kept some 
precious pieces of hand woven linen. 

Crouching down on the floor with Rodgers hold- 
ing his torch so that she could see the best, Kitty 
turned the key in the lock and threw back the lid 
of the trunk. On the spotless white linen lay a 
small brass key with a tag twice its size. The mes- 
sage it bore read: 

This key unlocks the case of the Gila monster. 


II2 


The Case of the Gila Monster 


'The case of the Gila monster/’ repeated Rodgers. 
"What did your aunt mean?” 

"I know !” Kitty clapped her hands. "Ben Potter 
spent the summer with Aunt Susan two years ago 
and he left one of his cases here. It contains the 
plaster cast of a Gila monster.” 

"And where is the case?” asked Craige. 

"In the library.” 

"Then let us go there at once. You will catch 
cold up in this icy place, Kitty.” Observing that she 
was shivering, Craige closed the trunk with a re- 
sounding bang, drew out the key, and preceded them 
out of the attic. 

Back in the library again, Kitty walked over to a 
Japanese screen, which cut off one corner of the 
room, and pushing it aside, disclosed a low oak case 
on which rested a glass box. Inside the box lay the 
cast of a Gila monster. The poisonous lizard looked 
so alive that Rodgers was startled for a moment. 
Bending closer, he viewed its wedge-shaped head 
and black and yellow mottled body with deep in- 
terest. 

"So that is the end of our search !” Kitty laughed 
ruefully. "Aunt Susan had a remarkable sense of 
humor.” 

"Wait a bit,” exclaimed Rodgers. "Why not un- 
lock the case?” 

"If you wish — ” Kitty inserted the key in the 

113 


The Cat's Paw 


lock and pulled down the glass door of the box, and 
she and her companions stared silently at the mon- 
ster. Suddenly, Rodgers leaned forward and picked 
up the plaster cast. An exclamation broke from 
Craige. 

“Papers at last!'’ he shouted. “Look, Kitty — 
Rodgers — ” and as Rodgers removed the cast en- 
tirely out of the glass case, they saw that a part of 
the flooring of the box, which was built to resemble 
a sandy desert, came with the lizzard, leaving a 
cavity, or false bottom, in which lay some docu- 
ments. Gathering them up, Craige walked over to 
the nearest lamp and drawing up a chair sat down. 

“With your permission, Kitty,” he said. “These 
papers are not sealed — shall I open them ?” 

“Certainly.” 

Craige pulled out a short half sheet of foolscap 
from the first envelope and read its contents aloud : 

Know all present that I, Susan Baird, spinster, of 
Washington, D. C., being of sound mind, do give 
and devise to my niece, Katrina Baird, all I may die 
possessed of, real or personal property. This is a 
special bequest in view of her efforts to support me. 

A list of my property and a key to my safe de- 
posit boxes in the bank, certificates of ownership, 
etc., are placed here with this, my last will and testa- 
ment. 

114 


The Case of the Gila Monster 

Signed in the presence of : 

Josiah Wilkins, Martha Hammond, and James 
Duncan, June 20, 1918. 

Susan Baird. 

Kitty and Rodgers stared at each other as Craige, 
laying aside the will, rapidly opened the three other 
documents and examined them. Kitty drew a long, 
long breath. 

‘‘So I get the old house after all,'' she said softly. 

“You get far more than that, Kitty," Craige laid 
down the documents. “From these statements and 
certificates I find that your aunt owned many valu- 
able stocks and bonds." He looked at the surprised 
girl for a moment, then added : “She has left you 
a fortune." 


CHAPTER IX 


MRS. PARSONS ASKS QUESTIONS 

W ASHINGTON society, or such portions 
of it as had known Miss Susan Baird in 
her lifetime, was agog over the latest de- 
velopment in the Baird tragedy ; while Washington- 
ians personally unacquainted with the spinster were 
equally interested from motives of curiosity in the 
filing of her will. And all Washington, figuratively 
speaking, rubbed its eyes and read the newspapers 
assiduously, without, however, gaining much satis- 
faction. News from Police Headquarters was 
scant, and reporters resorted to theories in place of 
facts in trying to solve the murder of the ‘'Miser of 
Rose Hill.” Miss Susan Baird, in death, had 
emerged from the obscurity which had shrouded her 
in life. 

Inspector Mitchell leaned forward in his chair, 
rested his elbows on the highly polished mahogany 
table-top and contemplated Mrs. Parsons with spec- 
ulative interest. Three quarters of an hour before 
he had received a telephone message requesting him 
ii6 


Mrs. Parsons Asks Questions 


to call upon her on, as her servant had stated, urgent 
business. He had spent ten minutes in conversation 
with Mrs. Parsons and had not received the faint- 
est inkling as to why she wished to see him. 

‘‘May I ask, Madam,” he began with direct blunt- 
ness, “what it is that you wish to see me about?” 

Mrs. Parsons looked across the “den” to make 
sure that the door was closed. Satisfied on that 
point, she turned her attention to the inspector. 

“I am anxious to have your bureau undertake a 
certain investigation for me,” she said. “I will 
gladly meet all expenses, no matter how large they 
may be.” 

“Just a moment,” broke in Mitchell. “Do you 
mean a private investigation ?” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” somewhat doubtfully. “You 
might term it that. I want certain information 
about a — a personas past career — ” 

She stopped as Mitchell shook his head. 

“We are public officials. Madam, employed by the 
District Government,” he explained. “What you 
require is a private detective.” 

“But are they not untrustworthy ?” she questioned. 
“I was told they very often sold you out to the 
person you wished watched.” 

“There are crooks in all trades, Madam,” replied 
Mitchell. “There are also honest men. You are not 
obliged to pick a crooked detective to work for you.” 

117 


The Cats Taw 


'That is just it — Can you recommend a trust- 
yrorthy person to — ^to — ” 

"To what, Madam?’’ as she came to a stammer- 
ing halt. 

"To learn certain facts in a person’s life.” She 
plucked nervously at her handkerchief as she waited 
for his answer. 

"You will have to be more explicit, Madam,” he 
said gravely. "Whose past life do you wish in- 
vestigated and why?” 

Mrs. Parsons paused in indecision; then with an 
air of perfect candor addressed the impatient in- 
spector. 

"Of course you will respect my confidence,” she 
began. Mitchell nodded. "There is a certain man 
in Washington who has gained a welcome in the 
most exclusive homes,” she paused. "I believe him 
to be an adventurer.” 

"Come, Mrs. Parsons, that is not being very ex- 
plicit,” remonstrated Mitchell. "To whom are you 
alluding?” 

"A man calling himself Edward Rodgers.” 

Mitchell sat back and regarded her in uncon- 
cealed surprise. 

"Edward Rodgers,” he echoed. "You surely do 
not mean Edward Rodgers, the handwriting ex- 
pert?” 

"I do.” His profound astonishment was a sap to 

Ii8 


Mrs. Parsons Asks Questions 

‘That his Holt will was a forgery/' interrupted 
Mitchell, pleased that he could again piece out her 
story and thereby prove his recollection of the case. 

“That was his public confession,” Mrs. Parsons 
lowered his voice. “What he told my husband under 
pledge of secrecy was that the second will was also a 
forgery.” 

“Second will?” sharply. “You mean the will pro- 
duced by the nephew ?” 

“Exactly so.” 

“Well, good gracious!” Mitchell rubbed his 
head, perplexed in mind. “Why wasn't it proven 
a forgery then?” 

“Because its legality was never questioned. You 
will recall that Colonel Holt's nephew produced let- 
ters and documents to prove his claim, and — ” with 
a quiet smile — “every one's attention was centered 
on Jake Brown and the will he fostered. Jake knew 
his will was a forgery and his entire effort was to 
evade the law. It was not until he was serving his 
sentence that Jake's suspicions were aroused, and it 
was one of his fellow convicts who gave him the 
tip.” 

“And what was the tip?” asked Mitchell, as she 
paused. 

“That Edward Rodgers turned his expert knowl- 
edge of handwriting and his skillful penmanship to 
good account — ” calmly. 

I2I 


The Cat's Paw 


‘‘You mean — 

“Jake told my husband that Edward Rodgers 
examined the spurious will when it was first offered 
for probate and discovered that it was a forgery. 
Keeping his knowledge to himself, Mr. Rodgers 
communicated with Colonel Holt’s nephew and, for 
a consideration, drew up the will leaving all Colonel 
Holt’s fortune to the nephew — ” 

“Oh, come,” Mitchell’s smile was skeptical. “The 
nephew, as next of kin, would have inherited the 
property when the first will was proven a forgery; 
for in that event Colonel Holt died intestate.” 

“But there was another relative who should have 
shared Colonel Holt’s fortune in case the Colonel 
died without leaving a will,” she explained, 

“Oh!” 

“Thus, to inherit his uncle’s wealth the nephew 
had to produce a will in his favor,” she went on. 
“It was clever to present a second spurious will under 
the protection, you might say, of a detected forged 
will around which interest centered. As far as I 
know, the second will was so cleverly drawn that it 
never aroused suspicion.” 

“And thus the nephew inherited his uncle’s 
money.” Mitchell stroked his chin thoughtfully. 
“What was Gentleman Jake’s object in telling 
this — ” he hesitated, torn between a sense of polite- 
ness and unbelief, “this story to your husband?” 


122 


Mrs. ^arsons Asks Questions 

‘*Jake said that he confided in him hoping that 
Mr. Parsons could catch Edward Rodgers tripping 
some day and send him to the 'pen/ ” she replied. 

"Did your husband place any faith in Jake’s 
yarn?’’ he asked. "A cornered crook, like a cor- 
nered cat, will fight — and lie.” 

"On his deathbed?” She shook her head. "I 
think not. What had Jake to gain then?” 

"Well, did your husband take any steps in ex- 
posing the second will?” asked Mitchell. 

"My husband,” her expression altered to one of 
deep sadness, "was killed in an automobile accident 
shortly after.” 

"Oh,” Mitchell coughed slightly to cover his em- 
barrassment. "Oh.” 

"Amos often discussed his cases with me,” she 
added. "And Gentleman Jake’s statements had 
aroused him to an unusual degree. He was thunder- 
struck at the effrontery of the crime and at its clever- 
ness.” 

"It was a clever scheme,” acknowledged Mitchell, 
"and probably succeeded through its very boldness. 
But, pardon me. Madam, you have brought forward 
no proof to substantiate your story.” 

"I am coming to that.” Mrs. Parsons rose and 
walking over to a closet, beckoned to the inspector. 
Opening the door, she knelt down before a small 
123 


The Caf s Taw 


safe used to hold her table silver. From one of its 
compartments she took out a worn envelope. 

‘‘I forgot to tell you/' she stated, shutting the 
door of the safe, ‘‘that the fellow convict who gave 
the tip to Gentleman Jake was up for burglary. 
Some time previous to his arrest he had entered Ed- 
ward Rodgers' apartment in San Francisco and, 
among other things, stolen these papers. He sent 
them to my husband when released from the ‘pen.' 
See for yourself," and she handed the envelope to 
Mitchell. 

Returning to his old seat, Inspector Mitchell shook 
the contents of the envelope on the table, then lay- 
ing it down he picked up a yellowish paper, which 
bore the signature: “John Holt" written over and 
over. The reverse was- a letter in a stiff, Spencerian 
handwriting : 

Dear Rodgers: 

Call at my office to-morrow. I plan to destroy 
my last will, and would like you to locate my nephew, 
Leigh Wallace, for me. 

Yours, 

John Holt. 

Without comment Mitchell laid aside the letter 
and picked up another paper. It bore the same sig- 
nature, traced in varying forms of completeness, and 
124 


Mrs, Parsons Asks Questions 


in one corner the name, ‘^Leigh Wallace,*’ was re- 
peated again and again. The third and last paper 
was in the stiff handwriting of the letter signed b> 
John Holt, and read: 

I, John Holt, being in good health and of sound 
mind, do hereby revoke all other instruments and 
do declare this to be my last will and testament. I 
give and bequeath to my nephew, Leigh Wallace — 

The remainder of the page was blank except for 
a large smudge of ink. 

Inspector Mitchell laid the three sheets of paper 
side by side and examined them with care. 

'‘Leigh Wallace,” he said smilingly. 'Ts he any 
relation to the Major Leigh Wallace over whom 
Miss Baird and her niece. Miss Kitty, are said by 
Oscar to have quarreled on Sunday shortly before 
Miss Baird’s murder?” 

"He is the same man.” Mrs. Parsons pushed 
aside the vase of flowers standing on the table so that 
she could obtain an unobstructed view of Mitchell 
and the papers lying in front of him. "Strange, is 
it not, that Major Leigh Wallace and Edward 
Rodgers should both be in Washington and both 
interested in the Baird murder?” 

"Why strange?” Inspector Mitchell was not to 

125 


The Cats Taw 


be drawn. “All Washington is interested in Miss 
Susan Baird's death." 

“But not with such a personal interest." Mrs. 
Parsons' voice was honey sweet. “Edward Rodgers 
has promised to aid in tracing her murderer. Also, 
4 Colonel Holt was Kitty Baird's uncle." 

“What — ^then she is the other relative you alluded 
to—?" 

“Yes." She paused. “Colonel Holt died in- 
testate and his property should have been divided 
equally between his nearest of kin, Kitty Baird, and 
her cousin, Leigh Wallace." 

“But the forged will gave the entire fortune to 
Wallace," Mitchell spoke slowly. 

“Which he has squandered," she added. “Leigh 
Wallace is cursed with an inherited vice — a craze 
for gambling." 

Inspector Mitchell raised his head and regarded 
Mrs. Parsons. The silence lasted fully a minute, 
then picking up the three papers he replaced them 
in the worn envelope and pocketed it. 

“You have given me valuable information," he 
said, rising. “It will not be necessary to call in a 
private detective. Good morning, Mrs. Parsons." 


CHAPTER X 


RUMORS 

T he clerks in the outer office of ‘‘Craige and 
Lewis, Attorneys’’ looked up as the hall door 
opened with an unmistakable wrench and 
Ben Potter precipitated himself into the room. He 
brought up with some abruptness before the chief 
clerk’s desk. 

“Take my card at once to Mr. Craige,” he di- 
rected. “Tell him I’m in the devil’s hurry — late for 
an appointment now. Thank you,” as an office boy 
hurried forward with a chair. “I prefer to stand.’^ 
The chief clerk, with one look at Potter’s de- 
termined expression, decided it was best to swallow 
his dignity and execute Potter’s peremptory request. 
He returned with unusual speed from the inner 
office. 

“Mr. Craige will see you at once, Sir,” he an- 
nounced, holding the door open for Potter and 
127 


The Cat's Taw 


swinging it to behind him with a sharp bang, as a 
slight vent to his ruffled feelings. 

Potter had crossed the room before he realized 
that he and Craige, who had risen at his entrance, 
were not alone. His angry frown gave way to a 
smile when the third man turned more fully toward 
him and he recognized Edward Rodgers. 

‘‘Hello, Ted, Fm glad you are here,*^ he exclaimed 
as Craige pulled another chair for his guest before 
resuming his seat. Potter sat down heavily and 
tossed his hat and cane on the desk. “Say, Craige. 
what the deuce does this mean?” and unfolding a 
newspaper, which he had held tightly clenched in 
his left hand, he pointed to a column of news, under 
the heading: 

Miss Susan Baird Wills Fortune to Niece 

“It means what it says,” explained Craige. “Miss 
Susan Baird left Kitty an heiress.” 

Potter’s prominent pale blue eyes were opened to 
their widest extent. “C-c-cousin S-s-susan!” he 
stuttered. “That forlorn old pauper left a fortune ! 
Why, Craige, I fully expected to be called on to pay 
her funeral expenses. You mean to tell me, in all 
earnestness, that Cousin Susan had any money — ” 

“She did not have ‘any money,’ she had a large 
128 


Rumors 


fortune,” declared Craige, laughing outright at Pot- 
ter’s ludicrous expression of bewilderment. 

'Then I am to understand that this newspaper 
is correct in its statements?” Potter asked. 

"You are — ” Craige leaned over and looked at 
the date on the newspaper. "You are a bit behind- 
hand, Ben. That paper of yours is a day old.” 

"Well, I’ve only just seen it,” Potter’s tone had 
grown querulous. "I had to run on to New York 
night before last — the night of the inquest, to be 
exact, and Nina and I only got in this morning, hav- 
ing taken the midnight train. This paper was the 
first I opened when we reached home, and its ac- 
count of Cousin Susan’s will astounded me.” 

"It took our breath away also,” admitted Craige. 
"Rodgers was with us when we found the will; in 
fact it was through his agency that it was found at 
all.” 

Potter swung around so hastily in his endeavor to 
face Rodgers that he knocked his cane off the desk. 

"How’d you know there was a will?” he de- 
manded. "Oh, never mind about the cane; let it 
stay on the floor.” 

"Rodgers had no knowledge of the will’s existence 
any more than the rest of us,” declared Craige be- 
fore Rodgers, who had stooped to pick up Potter’s 
cane, had a chance to answer the latter’s question. 
"He happened to open a trap-door to a hiding place 
129 


The Caf s Paw 


in which lay directions, written by Susan Baird, 
telling us where to find her papers.” 

Potter stared at his companions in unbounded 
astonishment. It was some moments before he col- 
lected his wits sufficiently to ask a question. 

‘Where,” he began, “and how, in the name of 
God, did Cousin Susan acquire her wealth?” 

Craige shook a bewildered head. “I cannot an- 
swer that question,” he admitted. “It is one that 
has puzzled me hourly since the finding of her will 
and the discovery of her investments.” 

“They are all genuine?” 

“Absolutely; gilt edged, most of them.” Again 
Craige shook his head. “Miss Susan showed rare 
judgment in her investments, rare even in an ex- 
perienced man of business, and in a woman who 
posed as a pauper — good Lord!” He raised his 
hands and dropped them with an expressive gesture. 
“In all my legal experience the whole affair, her 
death, her wealth — is the most remarkable.” 

“Considering them together, does not her wealth 
suggest a motive for her death?” asked Rodgers, 
breaking his long silence. 

“But who knew that she was wealthy?” demanded 
Potter. “Was ever a secret so well kept?” He 
stopped abruptly as a thought occurred to him and 
his expression altered. “How about Kitty? Was 
130 


Ru?7iors 


she in the dark, too, or was she aware that her aunt 
owned a large fortune?'^ 

'‘She was entirely ignorant of it/’ Rodgers spoke 
with marked emphasis, and Potter favored him with 
a heavy scowl. "Kitty Baird had no idea that her 
aunt was anything but the pauper she pretended to 
be. On that I’ll stake my reputation.” 

Potter’s scowl gave away to an expression of 
doubt. 

"It’s odd, in fact, it’s damned odd !” he ex- 
ploded. "Kitty lived with her aunt, lived alone with 
her. How could she help but know of her aunt’s 
financial affairs?” 

"Suppose' you question Kitty,” suggested Craige, 
^■with a swift glance at Rodger’s lowering counte- 
nance. "The girl, in my opinion, knew absolutely 
nothing about her aunt’s hoarded wealth — for it was 
hoarded, hoarded even from her, her only living 
relative.” 

"Hold on there, I’m a relative, also,” objected 
Potter. "She and my father were second cousins. 
By the way,” with a complete change of tone, "was 
there any mention of me in the will?” 

"There was not.” At Craige’s curt reply Potter 
frowned again. 

"So she left me out of it, did she ?” He shrugged 
his shoulders with well-simulated indifference. "Did 
Cousin Susan name an executor and did she leave 

131 


The Cat's Paw 

her fortune to Kitty in trust, or give it to her out- 
right?’^ 

‘‘She left it to Kitty without reservations,” re- 
plied Craige. “Kitty applied to the Court to ap- 
point me co-executor with herself, and the court has 
granted her request and permitted us to-day to take 
out letters of administration.” 

“Is that so.” Potter reached for his hat and but- 
toned up his overcoat which he had kept on during 
the interview. “Do I understand, Ted, that you are 
seriously trying to solve the mystery of Cousin 
Susan’s murder?” 
i am. 

Potter rose. His usual genial manner was absent 
and also his ready smile. 

“Has it occurred to you, Ted,” he said, and his 
voice was rasping; “that the person to benefit by 
Cousin Susan’s death is the one person known to 
have quarreled with her during the afternoon of 
the day in which she was murdered ?” 

“What d’ye mean ?” Rodgers was on his feet, ad- 
vancing toward the naturalist. 

“I mean,” Potter spoke with deliberation, his eyes 
not dropping before Rodgers’ furious gaze. “I 
mean that Kitty first quarreled with her aunt and 
now most opportunely inherits her fortune — so that 
she can marry Leigh Wallace, who can’t afford to 
marry a poor girl.” 


132 


Rumors 

Rodgers' powerful grip on Potter's throat was 
loosened by Craige. 

‘‘Stop this quarreling!" commanded the lawyer. 
“Stop it, I say," and he shook Rodgers vehemently 
as he backed him away from Potter. “Go, Ben; 
ril join you later. 

Craige did not release his hold on Rodgers until 
Potter, still gasping from his encounter with the 
former, reeled out of the office. 

“What has come over you, Rodgers?" he asked, 
letting go his hold so suddenly that Rodgers stag- 
gered backward. “Why did you fly at Potter in that 
manner?" 

“The dirty blackguard !" Rodgers actually stam- 
mered in his rage. “Didn't you hear him? Why, 
he had the audacity to infer that because old Oscar 
overheard a wordy row between Kitty and her aunt, 
that Kitty killed the old lady and so inherited her 
fortune — to marry — " he choked. “Why, damn it I 
There are a dozen men who would marry Kitty if 
she hadn't a cent in the world — I'm — his face 
paled, “I'm one of them." 

Craige looked at him with admiring approval. “I 
like your loyalty," he exclaimed. “As for Potter — " 
he struck his desk with his clenched fist. “Potter 
has grown insufferable. Matrimony doesn't appear 
to agree with him." He stepped back to his desk 
and picked up his brief case. When he turned again 

133 


The Cat’s Paiv 


to Rodgers, who stood waiting by the door, the 
gravity of his manner struck the younger man. 
“There is no use blinding ourselves to the situation, 
Rodgers,” he said. “It is up to us to solve the mys- 
tery of Susan Baird’s death. If we don’t,” he 
paused, “Kitty may find herself in a most unpleas- 
ant predicament.” 

“The mystery is going to be solved — and quickly,” 
Rodgers checked his hasty speech. “Are you on 
your way to the Court House, Mr. Craige?” 

“Yes.” Craige followed Rodgers through the 
outer office, pausing only long enough to be assisted 
into his overcoat by an attentive office boy, and joined 
him at the elevator. “Don’t let Potter worry you, 
Rodgers ; give him time to cool off. I imagine the 
news that Susan Baird was a wealthy woman, and 
that she never left him a red cent is responsible for 
his irritability. You know Ben is rather inclined to 
love money.” 

“Hm, yes. I can well believe that he is blood-kin 
in that respect to Miss Susan Baird,” and Rodgers, 
his temper somewhat restored, waved a friendly 
hand to Craige as they left the elevator and went 
their several ways. 

Once in the street Rodgers moved with dragging 
footsteps toward his car, his thought elsewhere. 
Suddenly he became conscious that, as deliberately 
as he walked, some one just ahead of him was mov- 

134 


Rumors 


ing even more slowly. Stepping to one side, he 
moved forward at a more rapid gait and was about 
to pass the limping figure when a hand touched his 
arm and looking down he found old Oscar by his 
side. 

'‘Fse sorry, Sah, I couldn^t get out o^ your way,” 
he said apologetically. ‘This hyar rheumatics am 
mighty bad dis mawnin’. Mister Rodgers.” 

‘That is too bad, Oscar.” Rodgers, observing 
the old man’s weary air, spoke with impulsive sym- 
pathy. “You are pretty far from home.” 

“Yessir. I started to do an errand fo’ Mandy, 
and then I stopped to see a parade, an’ I jes’ natur- 
ally has ter follow a band, an’ hyar I be 1” The old 
darky heaved a heavy sigh. “I ’spects a street cyar’ll 
be along bimeby an’ carry me over to Georgetown.” 

“Get in my car and I will take you to ‘Rose Hill.’ ” 
At Rodgers’ suggestion a pleased smile lighted 
Oscar’s face and he showed his big white teeth to 
their fullest extent. 

“ ’Deed, Sah, that’s mighty nice ob you’,” he ex- 
claimed, moving with greater speed to the curb. “I 
kin get in, thank yo’ kindly.” 

It took Oscar a few minutes to get comfortably 
settled in the roadster, and it was with a sigh of 
genuine satisfaction that he leaned back and watched 
Rodgers start his engine. His smile, which had 
never quite departed since Rogers first suggested 
135 


The Cat's Paw 


taking him home, broadened expansively as they 
slipped through traffic and swung into a quieter side 
street. 

*‘Yo’ certainly kin drive, Mister Rodgers,’' he 
said, breaking the long silence. ‘‘I guess yo’ can 
beat Major Wallace handlin’ a cyan” 

‘‘Thanks for the compliment, Oscar,” Rodgers 
laughed. “Major Wallace has a reputation as a 
speedster.” 

“Yessir,” but Oscar looked a trifle bewildered, 
long words were not his strong point. “Major 
Wallace done taught Miss Kitty ter drive.” 

“Oh, has he?” 

“Yessir.” Oscar was oblivious of Rodgers’ short- 
ness of tone. “Dat’s one o’ the things Ole Miss cut 
up ructions ’bout. She did hate dat Major, an’ she 
jes’ laid Miss Kitty out fo’ goin’ wid him.” 

“Oh, come, Oscar, Miss Susan did not hate Major 
Wallace,” objected Rodgers. 

“She did, Sah, she did.” Oscar’s smile had dis- 
appeared and he spoke quickly. “An’ she suttingly 
did ’spress her mind to Miss Kitty on Sunday.” 

Rodgers turned and scanned Oscar clSel^. The 
old darky looked the picture of honest respecf ability. 
His worn clothes were neatly brushed and patched. 
He sat with his battered hat cocked a trifle over one 
eye and his black face shone with the enjoyment of 
the unexpected treat of a ride in a fast roadster with 
136 


Rumors 


‘‘one of the quality” as he termed Ted Rodgers in 
his own mind. 

“Why did you tell Coroner Penfield that Miss 
Susan and her niece quarreled on Sunday ?” Rodgers 
asked. The old man blinked at the unexpected 
question. 

“ ’Cause he axed me, an’ they did quarrel.” 
Oscar’s voice betrayed a strain of obstinacy. 

“ ’Tain’t no harm tellin’ de truf, is there, Mister 
Rodgers ?” 

“No, certainly not.” Rodgers slowed down at a 
street crossing and in shifting gears failed to catch 
the sudden crafty look Oscar shot at him. It van- 
ished in a second. “How is Miss Kitty this morn- 
ing?” 

“Tol’able well, thank yo’,” Oscar replied. “Dr. 
McLean was over las’ night an’ he tole Mandy that 
he wanted Miss Kitty to leave town fo’ a month; 
seemed to think she needed change. But Miss Kitty, 
she said ‘no.’ ” 

“Then she is not going away.” Rodgers’ satis- 
faction was unconcealed. “Is she at home, Oscar?” 
as he slowed up the car before the entrance to “Rose 
HilL” 

Oscar shook his head. “No, Sah, she done gone 
fo’ de day,” he said, opening the door and clamber^ 
ing with some difficulty to the pavement. “Miss 

137 


The Cats Taw 


Kitty said somethin^ ^bout seein’ Mrs. Parsons. She 
done call her up dis mawnin’.'’ 

“I thought Miss Kitty had resigned from her 
secretary work.” Rodgers let his engine run and 
leaned over to speak to Oscar. ‘‘Has Mrs. Parsons 
been here?” 

“No, Sah, not since Miss Susan’s death.” Oscar 
hesitated, looked up and down the empty street, then 
back over his shoulder. No one was within earshot. 
The old man took his hand from the car door and 
rested his weight on his cane. “I kinda ’spects they 
had a fight.” 

“They — ?” Rodgers eyed him in deep surprise. 
“Miss Kitty and Mrs. Parsons ?” 

“No, Sah. Mrs. Parsons an’ ole Miss Susan. 
Good mawnin’, Sah,” and Oscar stamped up the 
steps leading to “Rose Hill,” deaf to Rodgers’ re- 
peated calls to return. 


CHAPTER XI 


1. O. U. 

T ed RODGERS shut off his engine, sprang 
from the car and in ten strides had gained 
the old negro’s side. 

“Stop a moment!” And at the stern command 
in his voice Oscar halted. “I am convinced that you 
know more of Miss Susan Baird’s death than you 
have admitted, Oscar, and — ” his voice deepened, 
“you are going to tell me the truth.” 

Oscar cast a frightened glance upward. Rodgers’ 
determined expression was not one to encourage 
evasion. 

“Suttenly, Sah, suttenly. Wha-what truf do yo’ 
wish, Sah?” he stammered, politeness uppermost in 
spite of his confusion of mind. 

Rodgers’ gaze grew in intensity as he studied the 
old man. The latter’s eyes had shifted from his in- 
terrogator to the mansion and his black face had 
become mottled grey in color. As the silence 
lengthened, Oscar’s apprehension increased and his 

139 


The Cat's Taw 


fingers fumbled nervously with his cane. For the 
life of him he could think of nothing to say. The 
sound of Rodgers’ voice came as so vast a relief that 
at first he failed to take in what he was saying. 

‘‘You testified at the inquest, Oscar,” Rodgers 
stated slowly, “that after serving a midday dinner 
on Sunday you left ‘Rose Hill’ But you did not 
tell Coroner Penfield that you returned here on Sun- 
day night — ” 

“I didn’t, Sah — fo’ Gawd, I didn’t !” Oscar raised 
a trembling hand. “I only jes’ passed along the 
street down yonder — ” 

“And what did you see ?” demanded Rodgers, his 
eyes sparkling. His chance shot in the dark had 
told. 

Oscar’s answer was slow in coming. Moving 
closer to Rodgers, he laid one shaking hand, knotted 
from rheumatism, on his shoulder. The gesture, 
half involuntary, held something pathetic in its mute 
appeal. 

“Massa,” he began, and his voice grew wistful. 
“Whose side is yo’ on? Is yo’ fo’ de police o’ fo* 
Miss Kitty?” 

Rodgers whitened as he met the old man’s direct 
gaze. At last there was no shifting in Oscar’s eyes. 
Man to man they faced each other — master and 
servant — each dominated with one desire: to serve 


one woman. 


140 


L O. U. 


“I would give my life for Miss Kitty,” Rodgers' 
deep voice carried conviction. 

“An’ yo’ won’t let no harm come to her?” 

“No.” The reply rang out clearly. Oscar’s har- 
rassed expression altered. 

“Gawd bless yo’, Sah!” He touched Rogers’ 
hand reverently. “Ole Mandy an’ me, we’s needed 
help de worst way. Hadn’t nowhar to turn ; now — ” 
he drew a long breath of relief. “Now yo’ kin find 
Miss Kitty’s red coat — ” 

“Miss Kitty’s red coat?” echoed Rodgers, staring 
in astonishment at Oscar. “What in the world — ” 

“Yessir.” Oscar blinked rapidly. “Yo’ ’member 
dat dar coat Miss Kitty was so fond o’ wearin’ ? — I 
heard yo’ an’ she argyfying ’bout it bein’ pink ’stead 
o’ red.” 

“I know the one you mean,” replied Rodgers im- 
patiently. “Well, what about it?” 

“It’s done gone!” Oscar raised his hand and 
dropped it in a gesture indicative of despair. “An’, 
Mister Rodgers, we’s got ter find dat ar coat fo’ de 
police.” 

Rodgers stared at him for a full moment. There 
was no doubting Oscar’s sincerity. His face was 
beaded in perspiration and his eyes, twice their nor- 
mal size, were alight with earnest appeal. 

“Please, Sah, don’t ax me no mo’ questions,” he 
141 


The Cat's Paw 


pleaded. ‘7^^^ find dat coat an’ we’ll know who 
killed ole Miss.” 

“Upon my word !” Rodgers shook a bewildered 
head. “What are you driving at, Oscar?” 

“Find dat coat, Sah, an’ then yo’ll know all. 
’Deed, Massa, I ain’t lyin’.” Oscar’s voice shook 
with feeling. “Please, Sah, do as I ax. It’s fo’ 
Miss Kitty.” 

“Very well.” Rodgers came to a sudden decis- 
ion. “I’ll do my best to aid Miss Kitty, even if I 
do it blindfolded. But, see here, Oscar, wouldn’t it 
be simpler to ask Miss Kitty for her coat?” 

“She mustn’t know nawthin’l” Oscar spoke in 
genuine alarm. “She — she ain’t had it fo’ mos’ some 
time — ” His lips trembled a bit and he touched them 
with the tips of his fingers. “The coat ain’t with 
none o’ her clothes, ’cause I’se searched the house, 
Massa, an’ Miss Kitty’ll be everlastin’ grateful to 
yo’. But — ” his voice dropped to a husky whisper — 
“yo’ git it befo’ de police does.” 

Engrossed in their conversation, Rodgers had 
failed to note that Oscar had gradually edged his 
way to the top step. With an agility which took 
Rodgers completely by surprise the old negro whisked 
down the walk which skirted the mansion and dis- 
appeared from sight. 

With an oath Rodgers pursued him down the 
walk, only to reach the side door and have it 
142 


L 0. U. 


slammed in his face. Repeated knocking brought 
no response, and after circling the mansion in the 
hope of finding an entrance, if not a glimpse of 
Oscar, he finally returned to his car and started for 
Washington much perturbed in mind. 

On reaching Washington, Rodgers ran the car 
toward Pennsylvania Avenue, stopping en route to 
purchase a can of Mobiloil. It did not take him long 
to drive to a garage in an alley to the south of the 
Avenue. At his hail the owner of the small shop 
came out. 

‘‘HowMy, Mr. Rodgers/^ he exclaimed, touching 
his soiled cap. ‘‘How’s the car going?” 

“All right, but I want the oil drained out, Sam,” 
handing, as he spoke, the can of Mobiloil to the me- 
chanic. “How is business?” 

“Oh, so so.” Sam glanced about the wide alley. 
“Pull up to this side. Sir ; I can get at the car better 
here.” 

Leaving the car, after he had complied with Sam’s 
request, Rodgers stood watching him for a few 
minutes, but his thought would stray back to Kitty 
Baird and he lost interest in both the car and the 
mechanic. Lighting a cigarette, he strolled down 
the alley to where it opened into Pennsylvania Ave- 
nue. The sight of hurrying pedestrians and swift- 
moving vehicles proved only a brief diversion as his 

143 


The Cats Taw 


mind again returned to Kitty and the unsolved prob- 
lem of her aunt’s mysterious death. 

Oscar’s conduct was a puzzle which he wanted 
time to think out. That the old man knew more of 
the circumstances of Miss Susan Baird’s death than 
he was willing to divulge was self-evident. Rodgers 
was thoroughly convinced that Oscar was devoted 
to Kitty. What then, did he mean to infer by say- 
ing that he, Rodgers, must find Kitty’s red coat be- 
fore the police secured it? In what possible way 
was the coat connected with Miss Baird’s death? 

The blare of a motor horn almost in his ear caused 
Rodgers to jump to one side as an army truck drove 
out of the valley and turned into Pennsylvania 
Avenue. Not having time to look where he was 
going, Rodgers collided with a dummy figure placed 
in front of a second-hand clothes store. As Rodgers 
picked up the figure he found that its wax face had 
come in contact with the pavement and was de- 
cidedly damaged. With an impatient sigh he entered 
the store and was met by the proprietor. 

*T knocked over your dummy,” he explained, 
drawing out his leather wallet. ^Tt got a bit dam- 
aged. How much — ?” and he opened a roll of 
Treasury bills. 

‘‘Wait; I’ll go see the dummy first,” and the 
proprietor bustled out of the shop. 

As Rodgers turned to accompany him, his eyes 
144 


7. O. U. 


fell upon a red coat lying on the counter. He had 
the faculty of carrying a color in his mind^s eye, also 
of noticing minute details. The coat looked like 
Kitty’s — with a single stride he was at the counter — 
the coat was Kitty’s. It was a stylishly cut garment, 
of a rough finish cloth, with large patch pockets and 
a scarf like collar with fringe on the ends. To make 
assurance doubly sure Rodgers examined the black 
and gold buttons of Japanese handiwork. He had 
admired them too often to be mistaken. How came 
Kitty’s coat in that store? A voice at his elbow 
caused him to wheel about. 

*'The face is kinda mussed up,” announced the 
proprietor. “Five dollars will cover it.” 

“Five dollars!” fumed Rodgers, then paused. 
“Oh, all right — ” handing him the money. “How 
much is this coat?” 

“Twenty dollars.” The proprietor had caught 
sight of Rodgers’ generous roll of greenbacks. “It’s 
a nice coat; good as new, ’cept for the tom lining 
and a few faded spots. It’s just what any lady would 
want. She could reline — ” 

“I’ll take it,” cut in Rodgers and the proprietor 
accepted his money with a wry face. Why had he 
not asked more ? It was not often that so biddable a 
purchaser wandered into his shop. “By the way,” 
Rodgers paused in the doorway. “How long have 
you had this coat?” 


145 


The Cafs Paw 


“Two — no, three days.” The proprietor paused 
to consider. “The woman came early in the morning 
and somehow the coat got misplaced in my stock. I 
was putting it in the window on display just as you 
arrived.” 

“Was the woman known to you?” asked Rogers. 
Both men were on the sidewalk by that time. 

“Not she — never laid eyes on her before and 
wouldn’t know her again if I was to see her.” The 
proprietor was in a happy mood ; not often had he 
taken in twenty-five dollars so easily. “Well, I 
hope your lady likes the coat. So-long,” and he 
nodded affably, as Rodgers turned into the alley. 

There was still five minutes’ work to be done on 
the car and Rodgers spent them in hurrying Sam 
into completing the job without further waste of 
time, and it was with a feeling of ‘satisfaction that 
he laid the coat on the seat and took his place behind 
the steering wheel. He had to slow up for traffic 
as he started out of the alley into Pennsylvania 
Avenue. A hail close at hand caused him to look 
around and he recognized the proprietor of the sec- 
ond-hand clothes store approaching. 

“Hey! Just a minute,” called the latter, and 
Rodgers pulled up at the curb and waited for him. 
“Say, mister, my wife fancies that coat, so if you 
don’t mind I’ll return you the twenty dollars,” and 
he held out the money. 

146 


/. o. u. 


Rodgers eyed him in astonishment. “I prefer to 
keep the coat/^ he said. ‘‘Sorry I can’t oblige you.” 

“But, see here,” the man protested. “Fll give you 
two extra dollars. Come now, that’s fair; twenty- 
two dollars. Money don’t often turn over in your 
plans quite so fast, does it?” with a faint leer. 
“Here’re the extra dollars.” 

“Thanks, but I don’t want them,”- dryly. 

“Oh !” The proprietor looked blank. “ ’Spose 
we make it twenty-five ?” 

“Nothing doing.” 

“How about thirty dollars?” persisted the man. 
“Oh, I’m no piker,” observing Rodgers’ expression. 
“When I want a thing I am willing to pay for it.” 

“And just why do you want this coat so particu- 
larly?” asked Rodgers, his suspicion aroused. 

“I told you my wife wants that coat.” 

“Well, she can’t have it.” Rodgers released the 
clutch and the car shot down the Avenue, leaving 
the dealer in second-hand clothes standing with 
month agape, gesticulating wildly after him. 

It was but a short distance to the Bachelor where 
he had an apartment, and Rodgers paid small re- 
gard to traffic regulations until he reached there. 
He wasted some valuable moments in finding park- 
ing space near the building and he was in no amia- 
ble frame of mind when he finally hurried through 
the swing door of the front entrance. The elevator 

147 


The Cat's Taw 


boy was nowhere visible and Rodgers collected his 
letters from his mail box ; then, tucking the red coat 
under his arm, he went over to the staircase and 
mounted it two steps at a time until he reached the 
third floor. As he turned his latch-key and threw 
open the door of his apartment he heard his name 
called and whirled around. Ben Potter was walk- 
ing toward him from the direction of the elevator 
shaft. 

‘‘Glad I caught you, Ted/’ he remarked, ignoring 
Rodgers’ curt manner. Not waiting for an invita- 
tion, he stepped into the apartment and walked 
through the short hall into the large room which 
served Rodgers as a combination living and dining 
room. “I came to apologize for my surly behavior 
in Craige’s office this morning, old man.” 

“Your apology is due to Miss Baird rather than 
to me,” replied Rodgers stiffly. 

“I spoke in haste — without thought,” Potter ad- 
mitted amiably. “Let’s drop the matter, Ted. Can 
you dine with us to-night? I’ll get Kitty to come 
also.” 

“I have an engagement to-night, thanks.” 

Potter’s florid complexion turned a warmer tint 
and he averted his gaze so that Rodgers might not 
detect the sudden rage which his eyes betrayed. 

“Sorry; but you’ll come some other time, per- 
148 


1. o. u. 


haps/’ he mumbled. ‘‘Nina’s greatly interested in 
hearing of all that you have done for Kitty.” 

‘‘I — done for her ?” Rodgers turned and eyed his 
companion sharply. Potter had perched himself on 
the end of the lounge with the evident intention of 
remaining, and was leisurely rolling a cigarette. 

“Sure — ^you have accomplished a great deal for 
Kitty,” Potter affirmed with emphasis. “You found 
the will which gave her a fortune. To put it poet- 
ically, the beggar maid is now an heiress and a prey 
to fortune hunters.” 

Rodgers’ eyes blazed. “Your remarks are offen- 
sive,” he exclaimed. 

Potter straightened up. “Are you trying to fasten 
a quarrel on me?” he demanded hotly. 

“I intend to make you speak more respectfully of 
Miss Baird,” retorted Rodgers, his anger at white 
heat. “If that means a fight — well, I’m ready,” and 
he tossed the red coat on the nearest chair to have 
his hands free. 

Potter’s big frame relaxed against the cushioned 
back of the lounge as he forced a laugh. “You are 
too damned quick to take offense,” he protested. 
“Why, Kitty’s my cousin. I’d be the first to take 
her part.” 

“And yet you insinuate — ” 

149 


The Cat’s Paw 


“Nothing/* with a patience meant to exasperate. 
“What are you doing with Kitty’s red coat ?” 

Rodgers met the unexpected question with un- 
moved countenance. 

“You are mistaken,” he said. “It is not Miss 
Baird’s coat.” 

“It isn*t?” Potter’s rising inflection expressed 
doubt. “Let me see it?” And he reached forward 
a grasping hand. 

With a quick movement Rodgers pulled the coat 
beyond Potter’s reach. The next second he was 
staggering backward from a crashing blow delivered 
as Potter, who had gathered himself for a spring, 
swung forward upon his feet. Rage at the treach- 
erous attack was a stimulant to Rodgers and he 
met Potter’s second onslaught with a swift right- 
hander. The scientist was no easy antagonist and 
for the moment he had the better of the rough and 
tumble fight; then as the younger man got his sec- 
ond wind he gave back and Rodgers pinned him 
against the wall. 

“You yellow dog!” Rodgers half sobbed the 
words in his rage as he shifted his grip to the man’s 
throat. 

The movement gave Potter his opportunity. 
Wrenching his right hand free he jerked a revolver 
from his coat pocket and brought the butt against 
Rodgers’ temple with stunning force. Rodgers 

150 


L O. U, 


sagged backward, then regained his balance as Pot- 
ter’s revolver again descended on his head. With 
a low moan he sank back, overturning a chair in his 
fall. 

As Potter bent over the half -conscious man a re- 
sounding knock at the apartment door caused him 
to start upright. One hasty glance about the room 
showed him that the window overlooking the fire- 
escape was open. Potter’s eyes sought the red coat. 
It lay on the floor, half hidden under Rodgers. 
Stooping over, he seized one of the sleeves and 
tugged at it. 

The action aroused Rodgers from his stupor and 
with such strength as remained he grasped the 
sleeve also. It was an unequal tug-of-war. Pot- 
ter’s cry of triumph was drowned by repeated 
knocking on the door and the sound of raised voices 
demanding admittance. Not daring to remain 
longer, he released his hold on the coat sleeve and 
bolted through the window and down the fire-escape 
as an agile elevator boy climbed through the pantry 
window from an adjoining balcony and popped into 
the living room. He stopped aghast at sight of 
Rodgers, torn and bleeding, and the chaotic con- 
dition of the overturned furniture. 

“My Lawd! What’s been a-happenin’ ?” he 
gasped. “We heered ructions an’ I got de police.” 

“Police!” The last word penetrated Rodgers’ 

151 


The Cat's Paw 


reeling senses, and his eyes sought the red coat 
sleeve which he still grasped. 

‘‘Yes; they’re at the do’ now,” as renewed pound- 
ing echoed through the place. 

“Go and let them in,” commanded Rodgers ; then, 
as the boy dashed down the hall, he staggered to his 
feet over to the small dumb-waiter shaft which 
was used to carry garbage cans, milk bottles and 
packages to the apartment. But one idea was upper- 
most — ^the police must not get Kitty’s red coat. He 
had just time to open the door and thrust the red 
coat down the chute and close the door again before 
two policemen appeared in the room. Stars were 
dancing before Rodgers’ eyes and he brushed his 
hand across his forehead. He must think — ^think — 
Should he have Potter arrested? No, he would 
settle the score between them without police aid. His 
hands clenched at the thought and he straightened 
up in spite of the increasing sense of faintness which 
caused his knees to sag under him. 

“What’s happened?” demanded the foremost po- 
liceman. “Who attacked you?” 

“A burglar, evidently,” replied Rodgers, sinking 
down in the nearest chair. “I walked in on him. 
He went that way — ” indicating the fire-escape. 

“Chase down and see if you can catch him, 
Mike,” ordered the first speaker. “I’ll search the 
apartment for any clues. Here — ” observing Rodg- 

152 


/. o. u. 


ers’ half-fainting condition — “Good Lord, he^s 
keeled over!” 

An hour later Rodgers, his cuts treated by Dr. 
McLean, and finally left alone by a too-solicitous 
policeman, went down into the basement of the 
apartment house. He had no difficulty in locating 
the opening to the dumb-waiter shaft. Looking in- 
side, he found it empty. 

“What is it, Mr. Rodgers?” inquired the janitor's 
wife, a young colored girl who acted as laundress for 
the tenants. 

“I'm looking for a red coat which I accidentally 
dropped down the chute, Cora,'' Rodgers explained. 

“Mercy, Sir, I wish I'd known that was yours,'' 
she exclaimed. “It was on top of a pile of trash 
and was so raggety that I just put the whole busi- 
ness in the furnace.'' 

Rodgers stared at her aghast, then, collecting his 
wits, he dashed by her and into the furnace room. 
The light from a hot fire half blinded him as he 
flung open the furnace door. Lying on the flagging 
close to the opening was a portion of the red coat — 
the rest was ashes. Rodgers jerked out the piece 
of red cloth, and flinging it on the cement floor, 
stamped out the smoldering flames. Paying no at- 
tention to Cora's lamentations, he hurried upstairs, 
the precious piece in his hand. 

Once more in his apartment and with the door 

153 


The Cat's Taw 


safely locked, he dropped down on the lounge and 
regarded all that remained of the coat, as his 
thoughts returned to Oscar and his fervid request 
that he ‘‘find Miss Kitty's red coat." In what way 
was the red coat involved in the mystery of Miss 
Baird's death ? Why had the dealer in second-hand 
clothes wished so ardently to buy it back? How 
had it gotten into his hands in the first place ? Above 
all, why did Ben Potter wish to gain possession 
of it? 

Rodgers' head swam with the effort to find an 
answer to the enigma. Sinking back against the 
cushions, he ran his hand over the piece of red 
cloth. It was the front breadth of the coat and its 
patch pocket that had remained intact. 

As Rodgers' fingers strayed inside the pocket his 
thoughts turned to Kitty Baird — beautiful Kitty 
Baird — ^his best beloved. His restless fingers closed 
over a small wad of paper pressed deep in the coat 
pocket. A second later he had smoothed out the 
paper and, carrying it to the light, strove to read 
the writing upon it. A whistle escaped him. 

“An ‘I.O.U.,’ " he exclaimed. “Devil take it, the 
signature's undeciperable !" 


CHAPTER XII 


A WORD OF WARNING 


K itty BAIRD regarded the butler with 
astonishment. 

‘‘Mrs. Parsons is not at home/* she re- 
peated. “Why, Oscar brought me a telephone mes- 
sage from her asking me to be here at noon and to 
lunch with her.** She consulted her watch. “Are 
you quite certain that she is not in, James?’* 

“Quite, Miss Kitty.** The butler*s solemnity of 
manner matched his severe black clothes, which 
fitted his somewhat spare form with the neatness 
of a glove. “Mrs. Parsons had forgotten a meeting 
of the Neighborhood House Committee, and she 
left word that she was very sorry to put you out. 
She said that she had no idea what time she would 
be back, and that you were not to wait for her.** 
“Oh !** The exclamation slipped from Kitty with 
some vigor. “Oh, very well, James,** with a quick 
change of tone. “Please tell Mrs. Parsons that I 
called. Good morning.** 

“Good morning. Miss Kitty.** And James re- 
155 


The Caf s Taw 

treated inside the vestibule and closed the front 
door. As he went through the hallway, intent on 
reaching the servants’ dining room by the shortest 
possible route, he failed to see Mrs. Parsons stand- 
ing in the folds of the portieres before the entrance 
to the small reception room, which, with the large 
dining room, was on the ground floor of her Eng- 
lish basement house. 

From her vantage point, Mrs. Parsons had over- 
heard Kitty’s conversation with her butler. Slip- 
ping her front door key, with which she had gained 
entrance some moments before, unknown to James, 
into her gold mesh bag, she hurried to the small 
window which overlooked the street. Taking care 
not to be seen by passers-by, Mrs. Parsons watched 
Kitty standing by the curb, apparently in doubt as 
to whether to cross the street or not. 

Kitty, in fact, was debating where she should 
lunch. Time hung heavy on her hands, and the 
thought of the great empty house in Georgetown 
sent a shiver down her spine. Neither Mandy nor 
Oscar were enlivening company at the best of times, 
and since her aunt’s death — Kitty shivered again. 
Oscar’s morbid relish of everything pertaining to 
the tragedy, his incessant harping on the subject, 
had worked upon Kitty’s nerves, and except for 
her appreciation of his many years of devoted ser- 

156 


A Word of Warning 


vice, she would have paid him several months’ 
wages in advance and let him go. 

Mandy, since the day of the discovery of Miss 
Susan Baird’s dead body, had moved over to ‘'Rose 
Hill,” bag and baggage, and Kitty had been grate- 
ful for her watchful care. Unlike her husband, 
Mandy was not given to talking and she had seen 
to it that Kitty had every attention, and in her way 
had done much to shelter her from inquisitive call- 
ers. Mandy looked upon the telephone as the inven- 
tion of the Evil One, and nothing would induce her 
to answer it, so that to Oscar had fallen the task 
of keeping reporters away. His loquaciousness had, 
however, been checked by a stringent command 
from Mr. Craige to refer all newspaper men to him 
or to the police. The order had been emphasized 
with a hint that, if not carried out, Oscar would be 
parted from what promised to be a lucrative pen- 
sion. Oscar had obeyed the order with much 
grumbling, but his complaints were carefully con- 
fided to his wife alone and fell on unsympathetic 
ears. 

“Go ’long, nigger; don’t bother yo’ betters,” she 
had responded. “Ef yo’ ain’t careful. Miss Kitty’ll 
bounce us both. An’ then whar’ll we be?” 

Kitty looked at her watch again. She had ample 
time to walk down to the Allies’ Inn for luncheon 
and she would feel better for the exercise. Already 

157 


The Cat's Taw 


the sunshine and fresh air had braced her up. Her 
decision made, she waved away a taxi-driver hover- 
ing near the curb with a watchful eye on her, and, 
turning, started down the street. She was conscious 
of a man passing her at a rapid walk, but with her 
head slightly bent and her thoughts elsewhere, she 
did not glance up. The man ran up the three steps 
leading to Mrs. Parsons’ front door, stopped, 
turned around and looked at her. The next second 
Kitty heard her name called by a familiar voice. 

‘What luck!” exclaimed Leigh Wallace, as she 
waited for him to approach. “Where are you go- 
ing, Kitty?” 

“To the Allies’ Inn for luncheon,” she replied. 
“Mrs. Parsons is out, Leigh; I’ve just been there.” 

“Oh, ah!” Wallace twirled his swagger stick 
with such energy that it almost slipped from his 
grasp. “In that case, Kitty, lunch with me at the 
Shoreham ? Don’t say you won’t,” as she shook her 
head. “I must talk to you — by yourself. Don’t 
refuse, Kitty, don’t.” 

Kitty looked at him steadily. “We can talk as 
we walk along,” she said quietly. “Come.” And 
her decided tone left Wallace nothing to do but 
match his footstep to hers as she sauntered along. 

From her sheltered nook in the window Mrs. 
Parsons saw Major Wallace’s rapid approach to her 
front door, observed his belated recognition of 

158 


A Word of Warning 

Kitty, heard his hail, and watched their leisurely 
walk down the street. An odd smile crossed her 
lips as she dropped the window curtain into place 
and went quietly to her bedroom. 

‘Trancise,” she said, as her confidential maid 
rose on her entrance and laid down some sewing, 
‘*tell James that I will lunch alone to-day. Major 
Wallace is unexpectedly detained and has cancelled 
his engagement with me.” 

Kitty found Major Wallace a taciturn compan- 
ion, and her efforts at conversation elicited only 
absent-minded, monosyllabic replies as they walked 
slowly down Connecticut Avenue. It was not until 
they reached H Street that Wallace awoke from his 
abstraction. 

‘The Shoreham is down this way,” he expostu- 
lated as Kitty continued walking straight ahead. 
“You must lunch with me, Kitty, you promised.” 

“I did nothing of the sort,” she retorted. “You 
said that you wished to talk to me and you have 
had every opportunity to do so. Instead of which 
you have been silent to the verge of rudeness. 
Frankly,” and her voice was decidedly chilly, “you 
owe me an explanation — ” 

“That is just it,” he broke in. “Why have you 
avoided me?” 

“I? Avoided you?” The scorn in Kitty's voice 

159 


The Cat's Paw 

caused him to color warmly. ‘1 have done nothing 
of the sort.” 

‘‘You sent word that you ^begged to be excused' 
when I called to see you,” Wallace reminded her 
bitterly. 

‘The words were of Oscar’s choosing, not mine,” 
she explained. “You came the night of the inquest, 
and by Dr. McLean’s orders I denied myself to all 
callers — ” 

“But you saw Ted Rodgers?” 

“Well, why not?” Her color deepened, but her 
eyes did not fall before his angry gaze. “It is not 
your right to dictate to me about anything. And 
besides,” not giving him a chance to interrupt her, 
“you have had ample time to call since then.” 

“I’ve been ill — oh, hang it !” as a hurrying pedes- 
trian collided against him. “We can’t talk here. 
“There’s no fun in being jostled about by idiots !” — 
casting a vindictive glance at the offender, who had 
just made the street car he had been running to 
catch. 

Kitty eyed Wallace sharply. Never before had 
she known him so upset in speech and manner. As 
she observed the careworn lines in his face and the 
mute appeal in his deep-set eyes, her anger cooled. 

“I will lunch with you, Leigh,” she said. “iBut 
why make such a point of it ?” 

What answer Wallace would have made remained 
i6o 


A Word of Warning 


unspoken, as a mutual acquaintance swooped down 
upon them and, utterly ignoring their lack of cor- 
diality, insisted upon accompanying them to the 
Shoreham. Once inside the hotel restaurant, Wal- 
lace lost no time in securing a table in a secluded 
corner and an attentive waiter took his order for 
luncheon. 

“There, that's done," and Wallace, with a sigh 
of satisfaction, laid down the menu card and con- 
templated Kitty with admiration but thinly veiled. 
Her mourning was extremely becoming to her 
blonde beauty. “Is this story true that I hear, Kitty, 
that your aunt has left you a fortune?" 

Kitty considered him in silence. The question 
had been asked so often by friends and acquaint- 
ances that it had lost its novelty; coming from him 
it surprised her. 

“Mr. Craige assures me that I am no longer a 
pauper," she answered, and her tone was dry. 

Wallace flushed. “The papers said that you were 
wealthy, very wealthy," he persisted. 

“It depends on how you compute wealth," she 
said. “And how much faith you put in news- 
papers." A faint mocking smile touched her lips 
and vanished. “Why this interest in my fortune, 
Leigh ?" 

“Because," he spoke with unconcealed bitterness, 
i6i 


The Cat's Paw 


“it puts another barrier between us. Your aunt’s 
hatred, and now this, this — ” 

“Please stop,” Kitty raised her hand slightly. 
“Why keep up the farce longer?” 

“Farce?” 

“Flirtation, if you like it better,” she sighed in- 
voluntarily. “Just an idle flirtation.” 

“Idle nothing! You’d have married me if you 
hadn’t met Ted Rodgers,” he blurted out. 

“Stop!” Her tone, though low, was imperative. 
“Here is luncheon. Suppose we discuss another 
topic. When does Nina Potter return from New 
York?” 

“I have no idea,” shortly. “Have a muffln, do?” 
and he extended the bread plate toward her, then 
relapsed into abstracted silence. 

Kitty’s healthy young appetite, sharpened by her 
walk, did full justice to the luncheon, and, not feel- 
ing inclined for conversation, she was content to 
watch the groups of people seated at near-by tables. 
One pair, obviously a bride and groom, especially 
attracted her and she turned for another look at 
them as they left the restaurant. When she faced 
around toward Wallace again, she saw their waiter 
slip a note into his hand. It was deftly done and 
only Kitty’s keen eyes detected the act. Wallace, his 
face devoid of expression, laid the lunch check and 
a bank note on the silver salver. 

162 


A Word of Warning 


“Never mind the change,” he said to the waiter, 
and rising helped Kitty put on her coat and adjust 
her furs. “I am sorry my car is in the paint shop, 
but we will get a taxi at the door.” 

“We'll do nothing of the sort,” objected Kitty. 
“I don't propose to put you to all that trouble, 
Leigh.” 

Without answering, Wallace led the way down 
the corridor to the H Street entrance. “Call a taxi,” 
he directed the doorman, then turned to Kitty. 
“Don't scold,” he begged. “I am going to Fort 
Myer and it will not take me out of my way to 
leave you at ‘Rose Hill.' Here's the car — ” and 
before Kitty could protest further, she was bundled 
inside the taxi. Wallace gave a few hurried direc- 
tions to the chauffeur and then sprang in beside her. 

The chauffeur was evidently a novice for he 
started his car with such a jerk that Kitty was half 
thrown from her seat. With a muttered word 
which strongly resembled a curse, Wallace picked up 
her bag and muff and laid them in her lap. 

“The fool !” His face was red with anger. 

“Sorry, Kitty, I have no use for incompetents.” 

Kitty watched him in wondering silence. In place 
of a sunny temperament she found uncontrolled 
irritability; instead of the steady gaze she was 
familiar with, she became aware of ever shifting 
eyes. What had changed her cheery companion of 
163 


The Ca( s Paw 


the past into the nervous, unhappy man by her side ? 

Kitty sighed involuntarily. She had met Leigh 
Wallace four months before, shortly after he was 
admitted as a patient at Walter Reed Hospital, at a 
“birthday party’* for the Walter Reed boys at the 
Theodorus Bailey Myers Mason House, and they 
had become great friends. Her aunt’s dislike was 
so general, so far as her friends were concerned, 
that Kitty had not taken seriously her objections to 
the gay and handsome army officer. When she fi- 
nally realized that Miss Susan Baird had conceived 
what appeared to be an actual hatred of Leigh Wal- 
lace, Kitty had tried to reason with her, but to no 
avail. When Miss Susan Baird had once acquired 
an idea, the Rock of Gibraltar was as jelly to her. 

Kitty had inherited some of the Baird obstinacy, 
and it was that trait more than an)rthing else which 
had fanned her liking into a violent flirtation with 
Wallace. She considered her aunt unjust in her 
treatment of him and resented her incivility. Her 
sympathies aroused, she had almost persuaded her- 
self that she was in love with him, and then — 
Kitty’s face flamed at the recollection. Then she 
had met Edward Rodgers. 

Time had had no place in the development of 
their friendship. He had been drawn to her with 
the same irresistible attraction which the North Pole 
has for the magnetic needle. No word of love had 
164 


A Word of Warning 

ever passed his lips, but his eyes — they had pleaded 
his suit more eloquently than any words. 

Absorbed in her thoughts, Kitty was actually 
startled when the taxi stopped in front of “Rose 
Hill.’’ 

“Won’t you come in?” she asked, as Wallace 
helped her out of the car. 

“No, thanks, I haven’t time.” Wallace looked up 
at the fine old mansion and hesitated a moment. 
“I’ll try and get in to-night or to-morrow. Say, 
Kitty, why don’t you go to a hotel ?” 

“Do what?” Kitty’s astonishment was obvious. 

“Close up your house,” with hurried emphasis. 
“You ought not to live there alone. What is Craige 
thinking of to let you do it?” 

“But I am not alone,” she pointed out. “Oscar 
and Mandy are living with me now. Besides — ” 
it was her turn to hesitate. “The police wish the 
house kept open.” 

“They do, eh?” Wallace turned and scowled at 
the mansion. “Have you heard anything, Kitty — 
any new theories about your aunt’s death?” 

She shook her head. “I only know those pub- 
lished in the newspapers,” she answered. “The 
police do not make a confidante of me. Won’t you 
change your mind, Leigh, and come into the 
house ?” 

“I really can’t.” Wallace walked with her up the 

165 


The Cat’s Paw 


terraced steps to the front door and laid an im- 
patient hand on the old-fashioned bell-pull. 

‘‘Don't ring !" exclaimed Kitty. “Both of the ser- 
vants are out. I have my latch-key to the side door. 
Don't wait any longer, Leigh, if you are in a hurry." 

“Sure you can get in ?" Kitty nodded an affirma- 
tive. Wallace wavered a moment, glanced at the 
bunch of keys which Kitty produced from her muff, 
then cast a fleeting look at the walk which skirted 
the mansion. “Kitty," he stepped closer to her side, 
his hands fumbling awkwardly with his hat. “Did 
you and your aunt really quarrel about me on Sun- 
day?" 

Kitty stepped back as if shot. “What an egotisti- 
cal question?" she stammered, with a brave attempt 
at a laugh. “On the contrary, Leigh, Aunt Susan 
and I had words over a matter of no importance ; as 
was our habit. Good-by." 

“Good-by — " Wallace echoed her words mechani- 
cally, and, without a further glance at her, ran down 
the steps. 

Kitty watched the taxi and its solitary passenger 
disappear up Q Street before turning toward the 
brick walk which circled the house and led to the 
large garden in the rear. She dreaded entering the 
house alone. It was a feeling which she had not 
been able to conquer, and she had, on the few occa- 
sions when she had gone out, always arranged to 
1 66 


A Word of Warning 


have one of the servants in the house upon her 
return. Mandy had asked for the afternoon off and 
Oscar, not being at home when Kitty left to go to 
Mrs. Parsons, had probably not gotten back in time 
to be told by Mandy before her departure that he 
was to await Kitty’s return. 

Kitty shook herself. It was not yet four o’clock 
in the afternoon. It was foolish to give way to 
nerves. But before turning into the walk, Kitty 
took one final look down the terraced steps, hoping 
for a sight of Mandy’s substantial form or old 
Oscar’s halting walk. Neither was visible. As her 
glance swept upward, she saw a piece of crumpled 
paper lying on the step just below her. Stooping 
over, she picked it up and, observing writing upon it, 
smoothed out the paper. She had read the few 
words it bore several times before she took in their 
meaning. 

Leigh, you are watched. 

Kitty turned the paper over. It was the one she 
had seen the waiter at the Shoreham slip surrepti- 
tiously into Leigh Wallace’s hand. She recognized 
the delicate mauve shade of the paper — she also rec- 
ognized the handwriting. Why had Mrs. Parsons 
written such a warning to Leigh Wallace? 

With her ideas in a whirl Kitty walked slowly 
around the mansion and to the side door. It gave 
167 


The Cat’s Paw 


entrance to the library. There was a perceptible 
pause before Kitty unlocked the door and entered 
the house. She had grown to loathe the library. 

Mouchette, aroused from her slumber in front of 
the fireplace, came forward with many ‘"mews” to 
greet her. Kitty fondled the cat affectionately be- 
fore laying down her muff and fur piece on the 
nearest chair. Going over to the chimney, she poked 
the smoldering embers on the hearth into a feeble 
blaze and added some kindling wood. 

She had a sense of chill in the room apart from 
its lack of heat. She could not dissociate her sur- 
roundings from the tragedy of Sunday. In her 
mind’s eye she saw always her aunt’s body lying 
inert in the throne-shaped chair and in memory she 
conjured up their last interview on that fatal Sun- 
day afternoon. Her aunt had not spared her feel- 
ings. What was it that she had called her — an in- 
grate ! And her last sentence still echoed in Kitty’s 
ears : 

“Mark my words, Kitty, if you don’t conquer this 
infatuation for Leigh Wallace, it will not be you 
alone who will suffer. It will kill me.” 

As Kitty spread out her cold hands to the blaze 
her eyes again read the message written by Mrs. 
Parsons on the mauve-colored paper, which she still 
clutched in her fingers : 


Leigh, you are watched. 
i68 


CHAPTER XIII 


BRIBERY 

A RESOUNDING knock on the side door^ 
through which she had entered the library 
a few minutes before, caused Kitty to start 
violently and her hand reached out instinctively to 
catch the mantel-piece to steady herself. For a sec- 
ond she rested her weight against it, then, controlling 
her nervousness, she thrust the mauve paper into the 
pocket of her coat and with reluctance moved over 
to the side door. Callers did not usually announce 
their presence in that manner. Miss Susan Baird 
had never permitted what she termed ‘'familiarity,” 
and no friend, no matter what the degree of in- 
timacy, was ever admitted except through the front 
doon Her dominating character had forced respect 
for her peculiarities, and Kitty could recall no one, 
except herself, who had ever cared to cross her aunt 
in any particular. 


169 


The Cat's Paw 


With her hand on the door-knob, Kitty hesitated. 
She was alone in the house and in no mood for 
visitors. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the 
door partly open. Inspector Mitchell was standing 
on the top step of the small ‘‘stoops ' which led to 
the brick walk. 

‘'Good afternoon. Miss Baird,'' he said, bowing 
affably. “Can you spare me a few minutes of your 
time?" 

“Why, certainly." Kitty concealed her vexation. 
The inspector was the last person she had expected 
to encounter. “Won't you come in?" and she 
opened the door to a wider extent. Not waiting for 
him to remove his overcoat, she hurried across the 
library and picking up a log from the wood basket 
by the hearth she stirred the fire to a brighter blaze. 
On facing about, she found the inspector standing 
in front of the side door and regarding it with fixed 
attention. 

“This door does not seem exactly in keeping with 
this house," he said, as Kitty approached him. “I've 
never seen a finer example of Colonial architecture, 
but this — " laying his hand on the upper section of 
the door — “this resembles a Dutch door." 

“That is exactly what it is, or rather, what Aunt 
Susan had it converted into," Kitty explained. 
“Aunt Susan had a bad attack of inflammatory 
rheumatism about fifteen years ago; she could not 
170 


Bribery 


leave the house and sat chiefly in this room. She 
was devoted to her garden and had this side door 
cut in half so that she could see outside without 
having to open the entire door.’’ 

‘‘And this panel in the upper half of the door?” 
Mitchell laid his hand on it as he spoke. “Does it 
open?” 

“Yes, it is a sliding panel.” Kitty stifled a yawn. 
“The builder’s idea of ornamentation, I presume — 
a door within a door.” She smiled. “And rusty 
with disuse. Oscar has an objection to cleaning 
brass, or anything in fact that requires ‘elbow 
grease.’ ” 

“The latch is discolored,” Mitchell amended. 
With a quick motion of his hand he released the 
catch and pushed the panel backward. “But there is 
no sign of rust in the hinges. Judging from the way 
this panel moves, Miss Baird, it is well oiled. See ‘ 
for yourself.” 

Kitty glanced at him in surprise before moving 
the panel back and forth. Inspector Mitchell was 
right ; it moved with ease and totally without noise. 
When pushed to the farthest, the panel left an open- 
ing about eight inches square. 

“What do you think of that, Miss Baird?” in- 
quired Mitchell. 

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Kitty’s eyebrows drew 
together in a perplexed frown. “We never touched 
171 


The Caf s Paw 


that panel; never had occasion to use it. This/' 
laying her hand on the upper part of the Dutch door, 
"we frequently kept open in the summer as we get 
the southwestern breeze through it. We never use 
this door as a means of exit except to go into the 
garden." 

"You entered by it to-day upon your return,” 
Mitchell remarked and Kitty favored him with a 
blank stare. 

"Were you watching me ?” she asked with a touch 
of coldness. 

"I was waiting in the summer house,” Mitchell 
explained, ignoring her manner. "No one answered 
the front bell and, as I wished very much to see you, 
I killed time by strolling through the garden. Then 
you don't generally use this entrance to the house ?” 

"No.” Kitty regarded him inquiringly, puzzled 
by his persistent questions on a trivial subject. 
"Only since Aunt Susan's death. The lock on this 
door is modern and the key a reasonable size to 
carry in my hand bag. Perhaps you recall the key 
to the front door?” she could not restrain a smile. 
"It is old-fashioned — ” 

Mitchell nodded. "I recollect its size,” he re- 
marked dryly. "I found it in the key-hole of the 
front door on Monday morning, just before we dis- 
covered your aunt lying dead in this room. Haven't 
any idea how the key got there then, have you?” 

172 


Bribery 


Kitty turned pale. "At the coroner’s inquest I 
told all that I know of the circumstances surround- 
ing my aunt’s death.” She faced him quickly. "Have 
you made no discoveries bearing on the crime?” 

"Only those brought out at the inquest,” he re- 
plied, with noncommital brevity. "Come, Miss 
Baird, suppose we talk over some of the aspects of 
the case. I won’t detain you very long.” 

Taking her consent for granted. Inspector Mit- 
chell wheeled forward an armchair and selected 
another for himself. Mouchette watched them both, 
then, rising stiffly, deserted her favorite spot near 
the hearth and perched herself in Kitty’s lap, her 
loud purr testifying to her contentment as Kitty 
passed her hands over the soft gray fur. Kitty did 
not care to break the pause that followed. She was 
content to remain silent and await developments. 
Mitchell did not leave her long in doubt as to the 
direction his thoughts were tending. 

"Mr. Craige tells me that you have inherited a 
pretty fortune,” he began. "A very pretty fortune, 
to be exact. Now, your aunt, if you’ll excuse my 
directness, lived in, eh,” he hesitated, "say, genteel 
poverty.” Kitty nodded somberly. Would people 
never stop harping on her suddenly acquired wealth ? 
"Where did your aunt get this money she left to 
you?” 


173 


The Caf s Paw 


“I have no idea,” she replied. ‘‘I am as ignorant 
on the subject as you are.” 

Mitchell eyed her intently. Was it candor which 
prompted the direct denial or duplicity? She ap- 
peared unconscious of his steady gaze, her attention 
apparently centered on the flickering fire, and her 
hands, clasped together, rested idly in her lap. Mit- 
chell’s profession had made him a close student of 
human nature and as he studied her face, partly 
turned from him, he concluded that Kitty did not 
lack strength of character and will power, whatever 
her faults might be. 

Was her air of relaxation, of almost dumb inertia, 
a cloak to hide high-strung, quivering nerves? If 
he could but shake her composure, he might gain 
some key to the mystery of her aunt’s murder. Mit- 
chell cleared his throat as he unobtrusively hitched 
his chair around to obtain a more favorable angle 
from which to gauge her expression. 

“Had your aunt a large correspondence?” he 
asked. 

Kitty shook her head. “Aunt Susan abominated 
letter-writing,” she replied. “My godfather, Mr. 
Craige, attended to her few business correspondents 
and I answered any invitations that came to us.” 

“Had you any relations living outside of Wash- 
ington?” he asked. 

“A few very distant cousins.” She shrugged her 

174 


Bribery 

shoulders. "My aunt did not encourage intercourse 
with them.” 

"Their names, please?” Mitchell pulled out a 
pencil and notebook and thumbed its pages until he 
found a blank space. 

"A. J. Beekman of Detroit.” Kitty watched him 
in some amusement. "Then there was rather a large 
family of Smiths in Georgia — Tm sorry I can't be 
more definite. Aunt Susan, as I said before, never 
cultivated her relatives.” 

"Did she actively dislike them?” 

Kitty straightened up and regarded him. "I don't 
catch your meaning?” 

"My meaning is clear.” Mitchell spoke slowly, 
deliberately. "Did your aunt actively dislike Major 
Leigh Wallace because of his relationship?” 

"His relationship?” echoed Kitty in bewilder- 
ment. "He is no relation.” 

"I beg pardon,” with a sarcastic smile. "I happen 
to know that Leigh Wallace is your cousin.” 

"Then your knowledge is greater than mine.” 
Kitty curbed her quick temper with an effort and 
added more quietly, "Whoever told you that was 
misinformed.” 

"I think not.” Mitchell consulted his notebook 
before continuing. "Colonel Marcus Holt of San 
Francisco, was your uncle, was he not?” 

"Yes. My mother, Louise Holt, was his sister.” 

175 


The Caf s Paw 


Kitty slipped her arms out of her coat which she 
had kept on for warmth. The fire was drawing 
nicely and for the first time she was conscious of 
the heat it generated. “What prompts your interest 
in old Colonel Holt? I assure you he died long be- 
fore Aunt Susan.^^ There was a touch of mockery 
in her voice and Mitchell smiled grimly. 

“I am coming to my point/* he said. “Holt’s 
nephew is Major Leigh Wallace.” 

Kitty sat bolt upright with such suddenness that 
Mouchette nearly lost her balance. With an offend- 
ed air, the cat jumped to the floor and crept under 
the nearest chair. 

“What!” exclaimed Kitty. “Are you sure?” 

“And therefore,” went on Mitchell, paying no 
attention to her interruption. “Leigh Wallace must 
be a relation of yours.” 

“I suppose so,” Kitty admitted thoughtfully. “But 
why had Leigh never told me that we are related? 
He has never spoken of being a nephew of Uncle 
Marcus.” 

“Nor of inheriting the old colonel’s fortune?” 

“Fortune?” Kitty looked blank. “Why, I have 
always understood that Major Wallace had only his 
pay. I never knew that he was wealthy.” 

“His fortune disappeared, the way fortunes have 
when dissipated away,” Mitchell was watching her 
like a lynx, but her expression of friendly interest 
176 


Bribery 


conveyed that and nothing more. The mention of 
Leigh Wallace’s name had not produced the result 
he had hoped for. Kitty’s composure had not been 
shaken. Could it be that she was not in love with 
him, as rumor reported? Mitchell frowned. He 
was not making headway. 

‘‘Have you ever heard of the Holt will contest in 
San Francisco?” he asked, after a brief pause. 

“Only in a general way. Aunt Susan spoke of it 
once or twice.” Kitty settled back in her chair 
again. “She never evinced any particular interest in 
Uncle Marcus, and he on his part ignored our exist- 
ence. To go back to ancient history — ” Kitty’s 
smile was a trifle mischievous; keeping Inspector 
Mitchell discussing harmless topics would prevent 
his harping upon her aunt’s death, and perhaps 
would hasten his departure — “Uncle Marcus ob- 
jected to mother marrying my father, and naturally 
Aunt Susan resented the fact that her brother was 
unwelcome to his wife’s family.” 

“So she nursed a grudge against them, did she?” 

“Oh, no; she simply had nothing to do with 
them.” 

“Then this money which your aunt left to you 
couldn’t have been given to her by Colonel Holt in 
his lifetime?” asked Mitchell. 

“Good gracious, no!* Kitty’s astonishment was 
177 


The Cat's Taw 

plain. '‘Aunt Susan’s prejudices were stronger even 
than her — ” 

“Love of money?” 

Kitty flushed hotly. “I do not care to have slurs 
cast upon my aunt,” she said coldly. “She is not 
here to defend herself.” 

“Hold on, Miss Baird,” Mitchell protested. “You 
must realize that your aunt hoarded this wealth 
which you inherited; otherwise she would have 
spoken to you or to some one about it. She — ” 
Mitchell came to a full pause, then added impres- 
sively : “Your aunt was a miser.” 

Kitty’s color deepened, but the denial which loy- 
alty prompted remained unspoken. Her sense of 
justice told her that Inspector Mitchell had spoken 
truly. What other motive, except love of money, 
had induced her aunt to live in poverty when she 
had ample funds to enable her to enjoy every luxury 
which money could buy? 

“Am I to conclude from your questions,” she be- 
gan, “that you connect my aunt’s hidden wealth 
with her murder?” 

“It seems a reasonable hypothesis,” he replied. 
“Take the known facts about the murder — first, 
your aunt was alone in the house on Sunday after- 
noon — ” 

“Was she?” 

178 


Bribery 

‘*Do you know anything to the contrary?” quick- 
ly- 

‘‘No. But,” she hesitated, ‘‘some one must have 
been inside the house as well as my aunt.” 

“And that some one — ?” 

“Murdered my aunt,” locking him calmly in the 
eyes. “She never committed suicide.” 

Mitchell regarded her steadfastly. “Can you give 
me no hint of the identity of your aunt's caller?” 
he asked. “Think carefully. Miss Baird. Have you 
no suspicion who might have murdered your aunt?” 

Kitty did not reply at once; instead her hand 
slipped inside her coat pocket and her fingers closed 
about the small slip of mauve colored paper tucked 
underneath her handkerchief, while the message it 
bore recurred to her : “Leigh, you are watched.” 

To what did Mrs. Parsons' warning allude? To 
what could it allude? And why did Inspector Mit- 
chell invariably drag Leigh Wallace’s name into 
their conversation? And what had inspired her 
aunt's hatred of Leigh? Could it have been fear? 
Fear of what — Death? Kitty shuddered, then 
pulled herself together. She must not let fancies 
run away with her. 

“I know of no one who could have had a motive 
for killing poor Aunt Susan,” she said. “It must 
have been the work of some one afflicted with homi- 
cidal tendencies.” 


179 


The Cat’s Paw 


*‘ril stake my reputation that it was no maniac,” 
declared Mitchell. “The crime was deliberately 
planned and by some one with nerves absolutely 
under control. Look at the manner in which the 
poison was administered — placed on one side of the 
knife-blade, so that the prussic acid only touched the 
piece of peach given to your aunt, and the murderer 
ate his half in perfect safety. It was neat, devilishly 
neat!” 

“Have you found out where the peaches came 
from?” asked Kitty. 

“No, worse luck.” Mitchell frowned. “Very few 
fruit stores make deliveries on Sunday and those 
few deny sending any fruit here.” 

“How about the Italian fruit stands? Have you 
questioned the dealers?” 

Mitchell smiled wryly. “Not many fruit dealers 
carry peaches at this season. Our operatives have 
been pretty thorough in their investigations.” He 
paused before adding, “According to their reports 
no one, man, woman, or child, purchased peaches on 
Sunday last.” 

Kitty hesitated. “They may have come from a 
distance,” she suggested. “By parcel post or ex- 
press. Have you thought of that ?” 

“Yes, and we found that no package was left here 
by the express company or post office employees.” 
Mitchell paused to replace his notebook and pencil in 
i8o 


Bribery 


his pocket. ‘*No, Miss Baird, the murderer brought 
those peaches with him.” 

‘‘It would seem so,” agreed Kitty, thoughtfully. 

“And it must have been some one who knew that 
your aunt liked peaches,” went on Mitchell. “Were 
her tastes generally known among your friends?” 

Kitty caught her breath sharply. The question 
recalled an incident forgotten in the rush of events. 
Leigh Wallace, on the few occasions when he had 
been invited to tea with them, had invariably pre- 
ceded his visit with a basket of fruit, and— each 
basket had contained peaches ! 

“I suppose our friends knew that Aunt Susan 
liked peaches,” she said. Her hesitation, slight as it 
was, was not lost on Mitchell. “I never gave the 
matter a thought.” 

“Indeed?” Mitchell did not try to conceal his 
unbelief. “Do you see much of Mr. Edward Rod- 
gers ?” 

Kitty actually jumped at the abruptness of the 
question and its nature. “What earthly business is 
it of yours whether I see Mr. Rodgers or not?” she 
demanded indignantly. 

“It is not my business.” Mitchell smiled apolo- 
getically. “It just occurred to me that he might 
have mentioned the Holt will contest to you.” 

“To me?” in genuine surprise. “Why should he 
i8i 


The Cafs Paw 

Speak about Uncle Marcus and the contest over his 
will ?” 

'*Oh, I don’t know,” Mitchell whirled his hat 
about. “Mr. Rodgers was called in as a handwrit- 
ing expert. It was one of his big cases, and I 
thought it likely he might have talked it over with 
you, seeing Colonel Holt was your uncle.” 

“I doubt if Mr. Rodgers knows that we were re- 
lated. From what I have seen of Mr. Rodgers,” 
her color rose as she spoke, “I judge he seldom 
discusses himself or his work.” 

“Perhaps not.” Mitchell walked over to the side 
door and laid his hand on the knob. “I won’t detain 
you any longer. Miss Baird. If you should think 
of any one who ever evinced any great interest in 
your aunt’s fondness for peaches, just telephone me. 
Good afternoon.” 

Left to herself Kitty stepped up to the fireplace 
and taking out the piece of mauve-colored paper held 
it suspended over the flames. But her clutching fin- 
gers did not relax their grasp and finally she tucked 
the paper in the belt of her dress. She laughed 
mirthlessly as she walked across the library and felt 
about for a box of matches. Inspector Mitchell, 
whether he had attained the object of his call or not, 
had sown seeds of suspicion. 

It had grown quite dark and the room, lighted 
182 


Bribery 


only by fire, was filled with shadows. Kitty passed 
a nervous hand over the table ornaments — the 
match-box which usually stood near the oil lamp had 
evidently been misplaced. She was about to look 
elsewhere when the sound of voices reached her. 

‘‘Fse done looked an* looked,** she heard Oscar 
say. ‘‘An* I tell yo* ole Miss never left no such 
papers.** 

“Please, please keep up your search,** a woman*s 
voice pleaded. “Please, Oscar. 1*11 give you more 
than I promised — a hundred dollars more.** 

Kitty straightened up and stared about her. The 
voices sounded clearly in her ears, but surely she was 
alone in the library? Running over to the tea table, 
she felt about and snatched up the much-sought 
matches. The next instant she was back at the lamp 
and a second later the room was illuminated. She 
was its only occupant. 

Where had the voices come from? As her eyes 
roved about the library she spied the “Dutch** door 
near where she was standing. The little panel in the 
upper half of the door had been left open and 
through it came faintly the sound of receding foot- 
steps. 

T^^'owing wide the door, Kitty stepped outside. 
In the gathering darkness no one was visible. She 
paused in thought, her troubled eyes trying to pierce 

183 


The Cat's Paw 


the gloom of the desolate garden and the empty 
pathway circling the mansion. The woman’s voice 
still echoed in her ears — where, where had she heard 
its haunting quality before ? 


CHAPTER XIV 


AND CORRUPTION 

K itty paused before her bureau and in- 
spected herself in the mirror. It had been 
a relief to change from her street clothes 
to a dressing gown. She had spent nearly an hour 
lying on the couch in her bedroom trying to piece 
together the puzzling events of the afternoon. On 
reentering the house she had gone at once to the 
servants’ quarters; from there she had searched 
every room, even to the attic. To all appearances 
Oscar was not in the house. She had then waited 
in the library, hoping to catch him on his entrance,, 
but evidently he had accompanied the unknown 
woman away from the house. 

Kitty struck her hands together in impotent wrath 
at the thought. Why had she not realized immedi- 
ately that the speakers were outside the house, and 
not wasted precious minutes trying to light the lamp 
in the library and thus given them time to slip away 
unseen ! 


185 


The Cat's Paw 


Who was the woman? Vainly, Kitty tried to 
identify her voice. Strive as she did to recall where 
she had heard it before, it eluded her memory. Why 
should any woman bribe old Oscar to steal papers 
which had belonged to her aunt? 

With a sigh of utter weariness, Kitty gave up the 
problem for the moment and continued her dress- 
ing. Twenty minutes later, her toilet completed, 
she stopped before the cheval glass and gave a final 
pat to her hair. At last, satisfied with her appear- 
ance, she hastened into the hall. As she descended 
the staircase, she heard the rattle of dishes in the 
dining room and the sound of the dumb-waiter 
creaking its way upward. With flying footsteps she 
covered the intervening space and crossed the hall to 
the pantry. 

“Oscar!” she called. “I wish to speak to you at 
once. Come here.” 

But the person who stepped from the dining room 
into the pantry at her imperious summons was not 
Oscar. 

“What yo* want. Miss Kitty?” asked Mandy. 

“Oscar!” She repeated the old servant’s name 
with ever growing impatience. “I must see him 
immediately.” 

“Laws, Miss Kitty, Oscar's on his way to Front 
Royal, Virginia, dis hyar minute,” explained Mandy, 
in no wise hurrying her leisurely speech. 

i86 


And Corruption 


“On his way where gasped Kitty. 

“To Front Royal.’’ Mandy lifted her apron and 
produced from a voluminous pocket a much twisted 
telegram. “He done got dis hyar message to come 
at wandst ’cause his brother, the one dat owns a 
farm five miles from Front Royal, is a dyin’. See 
what dey done wrote,” and she held out the tele- 
gram. Kitty read the typed lines with interest be- 
fore handing the telegram back to Mandy. 

“Why didn’t you tell me of this ?” she demanded. 
“Oscar had no business to leave without first speak- 
ing to me.” 

“Laws, Miss Kitty, yo’ warn’t in de house an’ we 
didn’t know when yo’ ’spected to be back,” Mandy 
explained. “Oscar had to catch the three o’clock 
train to get there to-night.” 

“The three o’clock train,” Kitty repeated. “The 
three o’clock train this afternoon/* 

“Yes, Miss Kitty.” 

“But — ” Kitty passed a bewildered hand across 
her forehead. “Oscar was here at five o’clock — 
here at this house.” 

“Here?” Mandy’s eyes opened, showing the 
whites more clearly. “What yo’ talkin’ ’bout. Miss 
Kitty?” 

“Oscar was here this afternoon at five o’clock,” 
Kitty stated, speaking more deliberately so as to 
make certain that Mandy understood what she said. 

187 


The Cat’s Paw 


overheard him talking to a woman just outside 
the library door/^ 

'*Yo’ did!’' Mandy’s uplifted voice as well as her 
expression registered complete astonishment. '"Did 
yo’ see him ?” 

‘'No. I tell you I overheard him talking to a 
woman.” Kitty’s temper was gaining the upper 
hand, and she spoke with warmth. “I know Oscar’s 
voice, Mandy.” 

“Yes, Miss Kitty,” but the old colored woman 
still looked unconvinced. “Dar’s a heap o’ niggers 
talks jes’ like Oscar. Is yo’ sure it warn’t dat worth- 
less ’Rastus from nex’ do’?” 

“I know it was not ’Rastus,” declared Kitty, with 
emphasis. “Besides, the woman, in speaking to 
Oscar, addressed him by name.” 

“She did ?” Mandy fell back a step and stared at 
Kitty. “Oh, go ’way. Miss Kitty, yo’ been dream- 
in’ — why, ’twam’t possible. I went to de depot with 
Oscar my own self an’ saw Oscar get on dat train, 
an’ it done pull out fo’ Front Royal at three o’clock 
this afternoon.” 

It was Kitty’s turn to stare at Mandy. The old 
woman’s beady black eyes did not shift their gaze. 
A full minute passed before Kitty broke the silence. 

“When did you return, Mandy?” she asked. 

“ ’Bout six or a few minutes after,” Mandy said. 
“I come upstairs an’ listened to hear ef yo’ was in 
i88 


And Corruption 

de house. I didn’t hear nuffin’ an’ didn’t see na 
light, so I went back to de kitchen to get dinner. I 
s’posed yo’ hadn’t come in.” 

*'1 was lying down — ” 

Mandy’s worried expression changed to one of 
relief and she did not permit Kitty to finish her 
sentence. 

“Dar now, I ’spects yo’ jes’ drap off to sleep an’ 
dreamed ’bout Oscar bein’ hyar,” she exclaimed. 
*'Dat was it, Honey, dat was it !” 

'^Oh, was that it?” Kitty’s voice lacked hearti- 
ness. ‘‘All right, Mandy. Serve dinner when it is 
ready.” 

“Yes, Miss Kitty; it won’t be a minute now. I’se 
got a real tasty chicken a broilin’. Jes’ go set down, 
chile; trust ole Mandy to look after yo’.” And she 
gave the girl’s arm a friendly squeeze as Kitty passed 
her to go into the dining room. 

Kitty did not sit down at once. Her thoughts 
were in a turmoil as she paced up and down the 
room. Was Mandy right? Had she dreamed over- 
hearing an unknown woman offer Oscar a bribe to 
steal papers which had belonged to her aunt? Her 
aimless footsteps carried her into the library and to 
the Dutch door. The small panel stood open. 
Kitty’s eyes strayed from it to the telephone. On 
impulse she crossed to the instrument and took up 
the telephone directory. It took her but a moment 
189 


The Cat’s Paw 


to find the number she wished, then she paused. 
Should she call Edward Rodgers or her cousin, Ben 
Potter ? 

She had seen or heard nothing from either Ben 
or his wife since late Tuesday afternoon after the 
inquest, when they had stopped for a brief moment 
to tell of their contemplated trip to New York and 
to suggest that she accompany them. She had been 
tempted to accept their invitation. A longing to run 
away from the mansion which she had called home 
from her earliest recollection, to separate herself 
from the tragedy of her aunt's murder had almost 
overpowered her. But her sense of horror at the 
crime, her determination to solve the mystery and 
bring her aunt’s murderer to justice had conquered, 
and she had stayed on at the old house, refusing to 
follow Charles Craige’s suggestion that she engage 
a trained nurse as a companion and go to a hotel. 
Nina Potter had promised to telephone to her im- 
mediately upon their return from New York, but so 
far she had received no message from her. 

Kitty felt urgent need of clear-headed advice. 
Instinctively, she took up the telephone instrument. 
She had not seen Edward Rodgers since Tuesday 
night when they had discovered her aunt’s will 
secreted under the plaster cast of the Gila monster, 
but he would come at her call — ^her woman’s instinct 
told her that. 


190 


And Corruption 


The telephone bell sounded with such suddenness 
that she almost dropped the instrument. Recover- 
ing herself she took off the receiver. 

“Is that you, Miss Baird?’’ Edward Rodgers’ 
deep tones were music in her ears. “Will you be in 
this evening? Can I see you?” 

His questions came in such swift succession that 
Kitty had no chance to answer each individually. 

“Do come,” she called back. “I’ll be very glad to 
see you.” 

“Righto — ” The connection was poor and his 
voice sounded faintly over the wires. “In about an 
hour.” With heightened color she hung up the re- 
ceiver and Mandy, entering the dining room some 
seconds later, found her sitting demurely at her place 
at the head of the table, waiting patiently for the 
“tasty” broiled chicken. 

During the service of the meal, Mandy kept up a 
running chatter of conversation, talking on any sub- 
ject, regardless of its relevancy. Several times 
Kitty regarded her in surprise ; it was not like Mandy 
to be garrulous. 

“I’ve been fixin’ to tell yo’,” she announced as she 
removed the dessert plate, “dat Mrs. Potter done 
telephone yo’ jes’ a few minutes after yo’ left this 
mawnin’. I declare yo’ put it outer my haid when 
yo’ telled me ’bout yo’ dreamin’ Oscar was hyar at 
five o’clock.” 


The Cats Taw 


‘‘Did Mrs. Potter say how she was, Mandy?’^ 
asked Kitty, as she arose. 

*‘She had a mighty bad cold an' I couldn't hardly 
Hear what she said, noways." Mandy advanced, 
silver coffee pot in hand. “Ain't yo' gwine ter 
take yo' coffee?" 

“Yes, in the library. And Mandy, bring another 
cup," Kitty paused. “I am expecting Mr. Rodgers. 
There is the bell now — " 

Mandy was smiling to herself as she walked to- 
ward the front door. Her smile broadened into an 
expansive grin at sight of Edward Rodgers. 

“Come right in, sah ; Miss Kitty's 'spectin' yo' in 
the lib'ry." She hovered about while he removed 
his hat and overcoat. “I'se glad yo've come ; Miss 
Kitty's kinda peaked. It's nice yo' can keep her 
company." 

“Thanks." Rodgers' dry tone was totally lost on 
Mandy. With a flourishing twist of the portieres 
in front of the library door she announced: 

“Mister Rodgers — " and discreetly disappeared 
inside her pantry. 

As Kitty felt Rodgers' strong handclasp and met 
his ardent gaze, her heart beat more swiftly. Rod- 
gers, scarcely conscious that he still held her hand, 
was unaware of the brief pause, being content to 
watch Kitty's piquant beauty. 

192 


And Corruption 


"I’ve wanted to see you — to be with you,” he 
stammered. ""It’s been an eternity.” 

Kitty’s soft laugh interrupted him. ‘"Come and 
sit down,” she said. ""I’m particularly glad you 
came to-night, for I want your advice badly.” 

“You do?” Rodgers followed her to the leather- 
covered lounge and sat down by her. “What 
about ?” 

“Hush !” Kitty had caught the sound of Mandy’s 
heavy tread in the hall. “I’ll tell you later after 
we have had our coffee. Come in, Mandy.” Kitty 
raised her voice. “Bring the tray here and place it 
on this table.” 

With Rodgers’ aid the old servant made room on 
the table for her tray, then, with a respectful “good 
night,” she stumped away, taking care to drop the 
portieres back in place. As Rodgers bent to pick up 
a napkin which he had inadvertently dropped, Kitty 
caught sight of the cuts on his head partially cov- 
ered by a dressing. 

""Good gracious 1 What have you done to your- 
self?” she cried. 

“Ran head first into a door,” replied Rodgers. 

“Are you sure you are not badly hurt ?” she asked 
gravely, noting the pallor of his usually ruddy 
cheeks. At the solicitude in her voice Rodgers col- 
ored and his eyes shone. 

“Quite sure,” he said, then made haste to change 

193 


The Cafs Paw 


the subject. “Have you seen Ben Potter to-day 

“No. Nina telephoned to me this morning while 
I was out.” She handed him her empty coffee cup 
to put down. “I haven’t seen Ben since the day of 
the inquest.” 

Rodgers hesitated a moment. “Forgive the 
question — but — are you and he great friends?” 

Kitty regarded him gravely. “Not great 
friends; we sometimes have spats,” she admitted. 
A mischievous smile brought out her pretty dimples. 
“Our last dispute was on the subject of deportment 
and dress. I do not see how Nina stands his Puri- 
tanical ideas.” , 

“Doesn’t he approve of gay colors ?” 

“Gay colors!” Kitty laughed outright. “I 
should say not. Why, he nearly had a fit whenever 
I appeared in my red coat.” 

“He is a man of queer ideas,” Rodgers commented 
dryly. “The red coat was most becoming to you. 
By the way, I haven’t seen you wear it latety.” 

“I am having the coat dyed — ” Seeing his sur- 
prised expression, she added, “Not because Ben dis- 
liked the color, but it was too faded.” 

“Did you take the coat to be dyed?” asked Rod- 
gers, and she wondered at the persistency of his 
gaze. 

“No. I gave it to Aunt Susan one day last 
week.” Kitty sat bolt upright. “Dear me, I won- 
194 


And Corruption 

der at which cleaning establishment she left the 
coat/* 

^‘You have no idea where it is?” 

‘‘Not the faintest idea in this world ; Aunt Susan 
never dealt long at any one shop.” Kitty shook 
her head. “The events of the past few days put the 
coat entirely out of my mind.” 

“Then your aunt was the last person to have your 
coat — ?” 

“She was certainly the last person in this house- 
hold to handle it,” she answered. “You speak as if 
the coat was of some consequence — ” with a quick 
surprised glance at him. 

Rogers paused as Oscar’s warning recurred to 
him “She 'mustn’t know nawthin’.” Whatever 
the old negro’s reasons might be for asking him not 
to discuss the red coat with Kitty — whether import- 
ant or unimportant — he would keep faith with the 
old negro and not tell her of the incidents of the 
morning. 

“I always liked the coat,” he declared. “Suppose 
you don’t get it back — ?” 

“Oh, the cleaners, whoever they are, will prob- 
ably send it back when it is dyed so as to get paid,” 
she answered carelessly. “It is a small loss anyway 
for the coat was about worn out.” She sighed in- 
voluntarily and Rodgers looked at her intently. 

“Isn’t this house getting on your nerves?” he 

195 


The Cats Taw 


asked, observing the deep shadows under her eyes 
which told their story of wakeful nights and frayed 
nerves. 

'‘Not so much the house as the mystery,’’ she ad- 
mitted, with a slight shiver. "Have you discovered 
any clues ?” 

Rodgers touched a small "I.O.U.” paper safely 
tucked inside his vest pocket. "Nothing of any 
consequence,” he confessed. "I tried to see Inspec- 
tor Mitchell this afternoon, but he never returned to 
Headquarters.” 

"He was here.” Kitty paused and considered her 
companion. The mention of Inspector Mitchell 
brought back his questions about the Holt will con- 
test. "By the way, the inspector asked if you had 
ever told me about the law suit over Colonel Holt’s 
will.” 

Rodgers laid down his cigarette case unopened. 
"The Holt will case,” he exclaimed. "Of what pos- 
sible interest could that be to you ?” 

"Colonel Holt was my uncle.” Observing his 
surprised expression, she added, "The inspector 
suggested that perhaps the fortune Aunt Susan left 
to me was given to her by Colonel Holt. I told him 
the idea was preposterous. Why, Aunt Susan 
would have nothing to do with Uncle Marcus. To 
my knowledge she never saw him. I doubt if he 
even knew of my existence.” 

196 


And Corruption 


Rodgers selected a cigarette. ‘‘May I smoke?” 
he asked, and for answer she handed him a box of 
matches. “I wish you and Colonel Holt had known 
each other. He was a fine old man; looked like a 
soldier of the French Empire.” 

“Was he a friend of yours?” 

“I knew him slightly in a business way.” Rod- 
gers puffed at his cigarette until he had it drawing 
nicely. “How did Mitchell come to know that you 
were related?” 

“I don’t know,” Kitty laughed a trifle vexedly. 
“The inspector evidently informed himself as to my 
relations ; he even told me that Leigh Wallace and I 
are cousins.” 

Rodgers favored the “grandfather” clock across 
the library with a prolonged stare. Kitty was com- 
mencing to wonder at his silence, when he turned 
and addressed her. 

“So you and Leigh are cousins,” he said. “I had 
not realized that before. How near is the relation- 
ship ?” 

“We are first cousins, if what Inspector Mitchell 
said is true. My mother was Louise Holt, and I 
suppose her half-sister, Anne, was Leigh’s mother. 
Odd, is it not, that Leigh never spoke of being re- 
lated to me?” she added, after a slight pause. 

Rodgers’ gaze was transferred from the clock to 
197 


The Cat’s Paw 

Kitty. **Was your aunt aware of the relationship?” 
he asked 

“I imagine not. We haven’t spoken of Colonel 
Holt for years,” she answered. ‘‘Inspector Mitch- 
ell said the law suit was one of your big cases.” 

“I was called in as a handwriting expert.” Rod- 
gers moved restlessly. “Has Mitchell discovered 
any clues to your aunt’s murder?” 

“If he has, he has not confided them to me,” she 
smiled mirthlessly. “He has succeeded in making me 
feel very uncomfortable — ” 

“In what way?” quickly. 

“With his suspicions,” she hesitated. “He in- 
sinuated that — ” she did not complete her sentence; 
her eyes had strayed to the framed photograph of 
Leigh Wallace standing on a near-by table. After 
all, she could not voice her suspicions to Edward 
Rodgers. For nearly a month she had been aware 
of a growing coolness between the two men, and 
Wallace had been at no pains to conceal his anger 
whenever he had seen Kitty walking or motoring 
with Rodgers. Kitty had never detected any al- 
teration in Rodgers’ manner to Wallace. What- 
ever his opinion of the latter’s surly behavior it had 
been cloaked under his customary air of good fel- 
lowship. 

“I have something to tell you of more import- 
ance than Inspector Mitchell’s veiled insinuations,” 
198 


And Corruption 


she said, speaking rapidly to cover her change of 
topic. ‘‘J^st after the Inspector's departure I was 
standing here by this table," indicating it as she 
spoke, ‘‘when the sound of voices reached me and I 
heard Oscar say: ‘I'se done looked an* looked, an* 
I tell yo* ole Miss never left no sech papers.* And 
a woman*s voice replied: ‘Please, please keep up 
your search, Oscar. 1*11 give you more than I 
promised — a hundred dollars more.* ** 

Rodgers threw away his cigarette and stared at 
Kitty. 

“Who was the woman?’* he demanded. 

“I do not know.** Kitty rose and walked over to 
the Dutch door. “I tried to light the library lamp 
and wasted valuable seconds hunting for matches. 
When I finally got the lamp lighted, I found that I 
was alone in the library and the voices had come 
through this panel,** laying her hand on it as she 
spoke. “I dashed outside but Oscar and his com- 
panion had disappeared in the darkness.** 

Rodgers followed her to the Dutch door, his face 
expressing both astonishment and deep attention. 

“Have you no idea who the woman was?’* he 
asked. “Hasn’t Oscar told you her name and why 
she was bribing him?’’ 

“Oscar," Kitty paused and looked carefully about 
the library. “Oscar, according to his wife, took the 
three o’clock train to Front Royal this afternoon.** 
199 


The Cat’s Paw 


“He did whatf' shouted Rodgers, then at her 
startled look, he added more quietly, “Do you 
mean that Oscar has left Washington?” 

“So Mandy told me.” 

Rodgers considered Kitty in silence. . . . Oscar 
a runaway — the red coat practically destroyed by 
fire— the I.O.U.— 

Kitty was commencing to wonder at the pro- 
longed silence when Rodgers spoke. 

“At what hour did you overhear Oscar’s conver- 
sation with the unknown woman?” he asked. 

“About five o’clock.” 

Rodgers stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I 
should say that there was a nigger in the wood-pile,” 
he said softly. “You are quite sure it was Oscar 
talking to the woman.” 

“Absolutely positive.” 

“Did you recognize the woman’s voice?” 

Kitty shook her head. “Her voice haunts me 
still,” she said. “But I cannot place it. The whole 
affair bewilders me. I do not know what to think, 
what to conjecture. Our Oscar and Mandy, my 
aunt’s faithful old servants, in league against me? 
Has some one bribed them to lie and steal — and with 
what object?” 

Rodgers did not reply at once. Suddenly he 
reached over and, pressing the catch, slid the panel 
back and forth as Inspector Mitchell had done sev- 


200 


And Corruption 

eral hours previously. His action reminded Kitty 
of the incident. 

‘‘That panel seems to fascinate you men/’ she ex- 
claimed. “Inspector Mitchell spent fully ten min- 
utes commenting upon its well-oiled hinges and its 
possible use.” 

“Its use?” Rodgers’ voice was of the carrying 
quality, and it sounded distinctly through the open 
panel to a figure crouching in the shadow of the 
house. “Has the panel been used for any special 
purpose ?” 

“No, it is purely ornamental.” 

“Didn’t the postman ever drop mail through it?” 

“No. Our mail box is fastened to the front 
door.” 

Rodgers’ gaze had strayed to the floor. Stoop- 
ing down he rubbed his hand over the bare hard- 
wood boards. “Your flooring is well worn right 
here,” he said. “Some weight or some one has 
stood here constantly. Bend closer and you will 
see that the varnish is completely worn away.” 

Kitty followed his suggestion. “I don’t under- 
stand,” she exclaimed, standing erect. “It bewil- 
ders me. What does it mean ?” 

“Some one has been using this panel — for what 
purpose we have yet to find out.” Rodgers spoke 
half to himself, then asked more loudly: “Have 
you given all your aunt’s papers to Mr. Craige?” 

201 


The Caf s Paw 


*'Yes — even old letters.” 

‘‘Do you know their contents?” 

“I did not stop to read them all.” Kitty’s trou- 
bled expression deepened. “I gave him every 
paper I could find.” 

“I am glad Mr. Craige has them,” exclaimed 
Rodgers heartily. “If he has the papers which the 
woman bribed Oscar to secure for her, we can solve 
that mystery. There is just one .other question. 
Miss Baird, Did your aunt see very much of Mrs. 
Amos Parsons?” 

Outside in the shadows the listening figure stif- 
fened as it bent dangerously close to catch Kitty’s 
answer. 

“Not any more than Aunt Susan could help — ” 
Kitty’s tired young voice held a hint of mirth as it 
came through the open panel.- “She abominated 
Mrs. Parsons and deeply resented my acting as her 
secretary.” 

Rodgers contemplated Kitty for several seconds, 
then stepped briskly toward the telephone. 

“With your permission,” he said, “I’ll call up Mr. 
Craige and ask if he can see us this evening.” 


CHAPTER XV 


BOUND IN RED TAPE 

THAR yo’ gom\ Honey, at dis time o*’ 
V/%^ night?” Mandy’s voice was raised in 
" ^ shocked expostulation and Kitty could 
not refrain from a smile. She had interrupted the 
old servant in the act of arranging her bedroom 
for the night when she had entered a moment be- 
fore and taken her heavy overcoat and hat out of 
the closet. 

'‘Mr. Rodgers is going to run me over to see my 
god-father, Mr. Craige,” she explained as she ar- 
ranged her veil. "Don^t wait up for me, Mandy; 
I have the key of the side door and can let myself in. 
You are not afraid to stay here alone, are you?” 

"No’m.” But Mandy spoke with no enthusiasm. 
'T ain't skeered, kexactly, but yo' won’t be very 
late, will y o’?” 

"Oh, no.” Kitty glanced at the clock on her 
dressing table. "It is only a quarter of nine, 
Mandy ; I’ll be back within the hour. Sit down be- 
203 


The Cat’s Paw 


fore the fire/* pointing to the grate where Mandy, 
with solicitious forethought had built a coal fire for 
her young mistress to enjoy when undressing, “and 
make yourself comfortable. Don’t stay in a cold 
kitchen.” 

“Thank yo*, Miss Kitty. I ’spects I’d ruther 
stay up hyar, it’s mo’ cheerful.” Mandy walked 
into the hall with her. “Mind yo’ keep that collar 
buttoned up.” 

“All right, Mandy.” Kitty, touched by the old 
woman’s care for her, laid her hand for a minute 
on her rounded shoulder. “Don’t worry and keep 
warm.” 

Mandy waited in the hall, her woolly head, cov- 
ered with a bright bandanna handkerchief, cocked in 
a listening attitude until she heard Kitty and Ted 
Rodgers depart and the side door closed. Taking a 
general survey of the empty hall, Mandy limped 
back into Kitty’s bedroom and drew a tufted arm- 
chair up to the grate, selecting a “comfortable” 
from those stored in the hall closet and wrapping 
herself in it, she settled down in the chair. For a 
time she was wakeful, but as the hands of the clock 
approached the hour, her head drooped sideways 
and a subdued snore gave proof that she had faljfn 
asleep. So sound was her slumber that the inces- 
sant clattter of the bell on the branch telephone, 
204 


Bound in Red Tape 


which Kitty had had installed the day before, made 
no impression upon her. 

From her corner near the fire the angora cat, 
Mouchette, slumbered also. A shower of sparks, as 
a piece of burning cannel-coal dropped through the 
grate, singed her fur and woke her just as a figure 
crept through the partly open bedroom door and in- 
to the room. Its objective seemed to be an old- 
fashioned secretary in the southeast corner of the 
room. At sight of Mandy, asleep in the chair, the 
intruder paused, listened attentively to her regular 
breathing, then, reassured, moved onward across 
the room, followed by Mouchette^s large yellow 
eyes. 

The cat licked her singed fur, then, with a faint 
“mew,’^ started in the direction of the secretary. A 
second later a graceful leap had landed her on the 
chair beside it, and she purred contentedly as the in- 
truder turned and gently stroked her head. In her 
chair by the fire old Mandy snored peacefully, obliv- 
ious alike of the rustle of papers being removed 
from the secretary and the antics of the cat. 

Kitty was relieved to find Ted Rodgers a silent 
companion as they drove out to Chevy Chase, for 
she was in no mood for small talk. The rush of 
the cold air against her hot cheeks and the steady 
throb of the motor as the car raced up one hill and 
down another brought a sense of relaxation and 
205 


The Cat's Paw 


rest to her tired nerves. A restless longing to get 
out of the house, away from her thoughts, had pur- 
sued her all day. The big, silent man by her side and 
his air of protection were a tonic in themselves, and 
she forgot her sorrows and perplexities in the enjoy- 
ment of the unexpected trip to Chevy Chase, Wash- 
ington's fashionable suburb. 

Nearly a year before, Charles Craige had pur- 
chased from one of his clients a cottage in Chevy 
Chase and had moved his Lares and Penates from 
his bachelor apartment in the Hadleigh. His Eng- 
lish butler, Lambert, and the lattePs wife, Mildred, 
ran his house for him, as they had his apartment. 
Invitations to his hospitable entertainments were 
eagerly sought, for he was a born host and nothing 
gave him more delight than to have his friends 
about him. Mothers with marriageable daughters 
and widows never lost hope of catching so worth- 
while a parti and Craige had been reported engaged 
upon numerous occasions. Kitty had always en- 
tertained a genuine affection for her god-father, to 
whose kind offices she had owed many attentions 
upon her debut in Washington society. It was he 
who had introduced her to Mrs. Parsons, and 
through his suggestion the gay widow had secured 
Kitty as her social secretary. 

In what seemed an incredibly short time to Kitty, 
Ted Rodgers drove his roadster under the porte- 
206 


Bound in Red Tape 


cochere of ‘‘Hideaway/^ Lambert came imme- 
diately in answer to Kitty’s ring, and his usually 
solemn manner thawed at the sight of her. 

‘The master will be ’ere in a moment,” he ex- 
plained, helping them off with their wraps. “Just 
step into the living room. Miss Kitty. I ’ave a 
fresh fire laid there. Mr. Craige told me you were 
h’expected.” 

The living room always aroused Ted Rodgers’ 
admiration, for it represented his idea of comfort 
combined with good taste. Craige had a love of 
art and an appreciation of the beautiful and ample 
means to gratify both. In furnishing his house, 
he had spared no expense. 

“Aunt Susan was very fond of this room,” Kitty 
said as she wandered about examining the paintings 
on the walls. “She and Mr. Craige were great 
cronies. In fact,” and Kitty’s smile showed each 
pretty dimple, “he was about the only man she 
approved of.” 

“So she told me,” Rodgers’ smile was fleeting. 
“I wasn’t in her good graces — ” he stooped to pick 
up the fire-tongs which Lambert had inadvertently 
left lying on the floor before the brass fender when 
hurrying to answer the front door bell. “Your aunt 
gave me to understand at our last interview that I 
was personna non grata. Had she lived,” Rodgers 
207 


The Cats Paw 


paused and looked at Kitty, “I imagine she would 
have tried to turn you against me/* 

Kitty blushed. ‘‘It wasn’t you in particular,” she 
began impulsively. “Aunt Susan was frequently 
discourteous to my friends. There were none she 
liked when she found they — ^they — that is, that they 
liked me.” She laughed to cover her confusion. 

“They wished to many you — as I do — ” the 
words caught her unawares. “Kitty, my darling,” 
he pleaded. “Don’t turn from me ; give me a chance. 
Fve loved you so silently, so deeply — ” his voice 
shook with feeling. “You have grown to be my 
life — ^my religion — ” 

“Hush!” 

“No; you must hear me, Kitty.” He was pale 
with the intensity of his emotion. “I thought that 
I could be content just to see you — to be with you; 
but it has gone beyond that. I must know if there 
is a chance for me. Is there, my dearest? I know 
that I am unworthy — ” 

Kitty’s heart was beating to suffocation as she 
turned bravely and faced him. She had flirted 
many a time before and had turned aside a proposal 
with light-hearted banter, but her coquetry had de- 
serted her utterly. 

“Ted!” she whispered. 

“Kitty !” In an instant his arms were about her. 
“Kitty !” His voice deepened. “My best be- 
208 


Bound in Red Tape 


loved — ” and as she raised her head to look into his 
eyes their lips met in the first kiss of love. 

Forgetful of all else save each other, the lovers 
were brought back to the everyday world and their 
surroundings by a determined cough. Looking 
hastily around, Kitty spied Charles Craige regard- 
ing them from the doorway. 

'‘Sorry to interrupt,’' he said dryly; then as Kitty 
ran to him, her eyes like twin stars and the rich color 
mantling her cheeks, his manner altered and his tone 
grew tender. “Dear child, in so far as I may, I give 
you a father’s blessing. Rodgers, you are to be 
congratulated,” and his hearty handshake empha- 
sized his words. His eyes strayed to a large por- 
trait photograph of Mrs. Amos Parsons which was 
the chief ornament on the mantelpiece. “I can un- 
derstand and appreciate your happiness,” he added. 
“I hope some day soon to tell you I have won the 
dearest woman in the world — ” 

“Except one — ” broke in Rodgers, glancing 
proudly at Kitty. 

“Perhaps so,” agreed Craige cheerily. “And 
when is the engagement to be announced?” 

“Oh, don't say a word about it, please,” Kitty 
begged; then, with a quick shy glance at Rodgers, 
“We must keep the secret until the mystery sur- 
rounding Aunt Susan's death is solved.” 

“It makes a double incentive to clear up the case,” 
209 


The Cat's Paw 


declared Rodgers. ‘‘Come, Kitty, sit by the fire and 
V\\ explain to Craige the errand which brought us 
to see him to-night.” 

Obediently, Kitty curled herself up on the big 
sofa which stood facing the huge open fireplace. 
Her unhappy restlessness had deserted her. In its 
stead a feeling of peace, of renewed courage and 
unutterable happiness encompassed her, and she was 
content to sit idly by and watch the two men. As 
they stood with their backs to the fire, she was 
struck by their distinguished appearance. Craige, 
with his iron-grey hair and dark moustache, was 
the handsomer of the two, but Kitty decided that 
Rodgers' more rugged features, offset by the deep 
dimple, almost a cleft in his chin, indicated the more 
determined character. His dark hair was inclined 
to curl, in spite of every effort on his part to keep it 
straight, and Kitty liked its wavy appearance better 
than the severe style which Craige preferred. As 
Craige held a match to Rodgers' cigar she was sur- 
prised by their similarity in height. Had any one 
asked her she would have said that Rodgers was the 
heavier and the taller by a quarter of an inch. 

“This afternoon,” Rodgers had waited to com- 
mence his explanation of their call until his cigar 
was drawing nicely. “Kitty overheard an unknown 
woman bribe Oscar to steal some papers which had 
belonged to her aunt, Miss Susan Baird.” 


210 


Bound in Red Tape 

“That is interesting,” Craige pulled his mustache 
thoughtfully. “You say the woman was unknown. 
Describe her appearance, Kitty.” 

“I can’t, for I did not see her,” she explained. 
“The woman had gone when I looked into the gar- 
den, and Osc-ar with her.” 

“Then you haven’t questioned Oscar?” 

“Oscar,” Kitty spoke more slowly, “according 
to Mandy, Oscar was on the train to Front Royal 
this afternoon, but I can swear that it was Oscar I 
heard ; also the woman called him by name.” 

“Then it must have been Oscar,” Craige com- 
mented dryly. “And Mandy lied to you.” 

“What could have been her object ?” asked Kitty. 
“She must realize that we can trace Oscar’s where- 
abouts.” 

“That is already being done by the police,” Rod- 
gers put in quickly. “I called up Inspector Mitchell 
from your house, Kitty, while you were upstairs 
getting your wraps, and told him that Oscar had 
disappeared. He promised to try and locate the old 
man at once.” 

“Good!” Craige’s tone spoke his satisfaction. 
“Now, as to the woman, did her voice give you no 
clue to her identity, Kitty?” 

“No, I could not place it — ” Kitty hesitated. “But 
I am convinced that I have heard her voice before.” 

“Very likely,” agreed Craige. “It must have 

2II 


The Cat's Paw 


been some one who knew your aunt, and therefore 
is probably acquainted with you, also. Now, what 
papers could she have wanted?’’ 

‘That is the question which has brought us to see 
you,” Kitty explained. “Yesterday I gave you the 
contents of Aunt Susan’s desk — ” 

“Her papers are here — ” As he spoke, Craige 
went over to a table and pulling out one of the 
drawers, carried it back to the sofa and put it down 
by Kitty. “Hereafter I will keep all Susan’s papers 
in my office vault, now that I know some one is 
vitally interested in gaining possession of them.” 

“Have you looked them over?” questioned Rod- 
gers. 

Craige nodded assent. “They are receipted bills 
for taxes, marketing, and so forth. See, Kitty,” 
holding up a bundle neatly tied with red tape. “Your 
aunt was very methodical.” 

“She was indeed,” Kitty sighed as she untied one 
of the bundles. “Suppose we each take a package 
and run through it.” 

Silence prevailed while the packages were being 
opened and gone over with a thoroughness which 
omitted nothing. Kitty’s nimble fingers made 
quicker work of the knotted red tape and therefore 
to her fell the last bundle in the drawer. As she 
turned over the commonplace receipted bills, most 
of them for groceries and coal, she thought bitterly 


212 


Bound in Red Tape 


of the frugality which she and her aunt had need- 
lessly practiced, and of the years she had spent in 
denying herself pleasures which the average Ameri- 
can girl accepts, not as luxuries, but as necessities. 
Expert bank officials had estimated the negotiable 
securities and money left by her aunt as totalling 
over eight hundred thousand dollars — nearly a mil- 
lion — and her aunt had lived a life of genteel pov- 
erty during all the years that Kitty could remember. 

As Kitty sorted the bills in her lap, a small enve- 
lope, yellow and worn with age, tumbled out. She 
opened it and, unfolding the old-fashioned note 
paper, read the cramped penmanship with some dif- 
ficulty. 

‘This is evidently a love letter addressed to Aunt 
Susan,” she exclaimed. “Listen,” and she read 
aloud : 


Richmond, Va., April i, 1867. 
My Dar.mng Susan : 

I have called upon your mother and disclosed my 
affection for you, and she has graciously given me 
permission to marry you. 

I hope that I may never meet with your disap- 
probation. 

Transported with joy and expectation, I am 
Your fond lover, 

James Leigh Wallace. 

Kitty looked at her companions in wide-eyed as- 
213 


The Cats Paw 


tonishment. Leigh Wallace,” she repeated. 

'Who could that be?” 

"Leigh Wallace's father,” Rodgers replied. "I 
knew the old man. But — ” he paused, "that James 
Leigh Wallace married Colonel Holt's sister, Anne 
Holt.” 

Craige completed his examination of old receipts 
and' retied the bundle. "Do you suppose, Kitty, 
that your aunt could have been secretly married?” 
he asked. 

For answer Kitty held up a small object and a 
newspaper clipping which she had taken a second 
before from the envelope containing the love letter. 

"It is a withered rose,” she said softly, holding it 
out in the palm of her hand. "And this — ” she 
opened the clipping — "the notice of the marriage in 
San Francisco of Anne Holt to James Leigh Wal- 
lace, on April i, 1869.” She looked up in wonder. 
"See, here at the bottom of the clipping is written 
one word in Aunt Susan's handwriting — 'jilted!'” 

Craige was the first to speak. 

"It is not surprising that Miss Susan Baird hated 
young Leigh Wallace,” he remarked quietly. "She 
was not the type of woman to forgive an injury or 
forget an insult.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


A STARTLING ENCOUNTER 

T ed RODGERS ran down the three steps 
leading to the porte-cochere of “Hideaway/' 
and opened the door of his car. 

“Wouldn't you like to drive ?" he asked, turning to 
Kitty standing in the doorway with Charles Craige. 
Kitty's hesitation was brief. 

“Indeed I would!" she exclaimed. “I feel all 
keyed up — " 

Craige smiled indulgently. “Get as much pleasure 
as you can," he advised. “You deserve the good 
things of life, Kitty. Now, put your aunt's tragic 
death out of your mind — for to-night, at least," ob- 
serving her sober expression. “I will see you to- 
morrow and we will make a further search among 
your aunt's belongings for the papers wanted so 
mysteriously. Rodgers, take good care of her," and 
he waved his hand in farewell as Kitty started the 
car down the driveway. 

Craige's picturesque cottage, “Hideaway," con- 
cealed from its neighbors by tall box hedges, was 

215 


The Ca( s Taw 


located on a street near Chevy Chase Circle, and, as 
their car made the turn around it, Rodgers bent 
closer to Kitty. 

“Let’s run through Rock Creek Park,” he coaxed. 
“It isn’t very much further, and — ” his voice grew 
very tender. “I want so to talk to you all by your- 
self.” 

Kitty wavered a moment in doubt. She had 
promised Mandy to return within the hour — but she 
had already stayed more than an hour at her god- 
father’s home. Probably Mandy had long since 
gone to bed. Rodgers’ hand on her’s settled her 
hesitation as, with tender clasp, he turned the steer- 
ing wheel toward the road leading into the park. 

The heavy wind of the early evening had died 
down and as they sped down the moonlit road 
Kitty’s cup of happiness seemed filled to the brim. 
They drove in silence — the silence of perfect com- 
panionship and understanding — each content with 
the other’s presence and their thought of one an- 
other. 

“Stop here a moment ; the view over the Park is 
wonderful.” Rodgers leaned forward and pushed 
up the windshield to the farthest limit. “You can 
see better now.” But when Kitty slowed down at 
the side of the road she found him regarding her 
and not the moonlight on the rolling hills and valley 
before them. 


216 


A Startling Encounter 

“You meant it, Kitty; you do care for me?’’ he 
asked wistfully. “Really care?” 

Kitty’s soft laugh held happiness behind it. “I 
care so much — ” her voice dropped to a mere whis- 
per and he had to lean still closer to catch what she 
said. “My love is yours, always — always.” 

Rodgers held her in close embrace. “My be- 
loved,” he murmured and he kissed her with a 
fervor which left her breathless. 

“Ted,” she said, a little later. “Aunt Susan’s 
love letter haunts me. It told a pitiful story.” 

He nodded soberly. “Perhaps that is what 
warped her nature,” he suggested. “James Leigh 
Wallace was an out-and-out scoundrel. He gambled 
his soul away — anything to gain money to lose in 
some gambling hell.” 

“I never heard of him before,” she replied. “Now 
I understand Aunt Susan’s antipathy to his son. I 
thought it unreasoning dislike. Leigh — ” she hesi- 
tated. 

“I’ve been so jealous of Leigh,” Rodgers con- 
fessed. “Every one thought you were engaged.” 

“People are such idiots!” she ejaculated, then 
added almost in a whisper, “It was always you, 
dear, never Leigh, that I cared for. He was with 
me because — because Nina Potter and I were to- 
gether.” 

A low whistle escaped Rodgers. “By jove!” he 
217 


The Caf s Paw 


exclaimed. did hear some time ago that Leigh 
was attentive to a Miss Underwood — it never 
dawned on me that she was the one who married 
Ben Potter.” 

‘‘Did you know Leigh very well in San Fran- 
cisco?” asked Kitty. 

“Pretty well, before he entered the army — civi- 
lian appointment, you know,” he added. “I used to 
see him frequently at Mrs. Parsons’ home in San 
Francisco. By the way, Ben was a great friend of 
hers in those days.” 

“Who, Mrs. Parsons — ?” quickly. 

“Yes — some people thought she might marry 
him.” 

Kitty smiled. “The idea is droll,” she commented. 
“Ben has chosen a much more suitable wife. I can- 
not imagine Mrs. Parsons and Ben in love with 
each other; they are such opposite natures. But, 
dear,” turning troubled eyes toward him, “you say 
Mrs. Parsons and Leigh were good friends — ^there’s 
something I must tell you. Just vague suspicions,” 
she hesitated. “I cannot bear to be disloyal — ^to 
harbor suspicions against a man I have called my 
friend, but — ” she took from her pocket a piece of 
mauve-colored paper — “I lunched with Leigh to- 
day at the Shoreham and our waiter slipped this 
paper into his hand. Leigh carelessly dropped it on 
218 


A Startling Encounter 

my doorstep, and not realizing what I was doing, 
I read it.” 

Rodgers took the paper and, holding it under the 
dash-light, peered at the writing. ‘Teigh, you are 
watched,” he read the words aloud and then re- 
versed the paper. 

‘There is nothing else on it,” Kitty explained. 
“But the message is in Mrs. Parsons’ handwriting*” 

In the darkness Kitty failed to see Rodgers’ odd 
expression. After waiting vainly for some com- 
ment, she added. “Do you suppose that Mrs. Par- 
sons suspects Leigh is in some way responsible for 
Aunt Susan’s death?” 

“That might be inferred.” Rodgers folded the 
paper and placed it carefully in his leather wallet. 
“With your permission. I’ll keep this.” 

“Certainly, Ted.” Kitty put her foot on the self- 
starter. “I am only too thankful to give it to you and 
to have you, dear, to confide in.” He returned her 
warm handclasp with a grip that hurt. “But, Ted, 
how is it that Mrs. Parsons knows that the police are 
watching Leigh ?” 

“The police?” echoed Rodgers. “Oh, ah, yes. 
Perhaps she has had another call from Inspector 
Mitchell; I saw him coming away from there yes- 
terday.” 

“But why in the world should he confide in Mrs. 
Parsons ?” 


219 


The Cat’s Paw 


don’t know — ” Rodgers was frowning in the 
darkness, and Kitty, intent on starting the car, did 
not notice the alteration in his voice. don’t know 
why any one puts trust in Mrs. Parsons.” 

'"Why, Ted !” Kitty looked at him in surprise. ‘T 
never knew you disliked Mrs. Parsons.” 

'T have no use for her,” he admitted. 'T never 
did like cats — even your Mouchette.” 

"Imagine putting Mrs. Parsons in a class with 
Mouchette,” Kitty chuckled, then grew grave. "Ted, 
you don’t suppose, really suppose, that Leigh could 
have killed Aunt Susan, a defenceless old lady.” 

"With a serpent’s tongue.” The words were no 
sooner spoken than Rodgers regretted them. "For- 
give me, darling — ” 

"I know poor Aunt Susan was not loved — .” A 
sigh escaped Kitty. "Can it be that Aunt Susan 
quarreled with Leigh over his father’s treatment of 
her—” 

"It might be,” Rodgers’ tone was grave. "But §o 
far we do not even know that Leigh was at your 
house on Sunday afternoon. Don’t brood over the 
tragedy, Kitty; forget it, for to-night, at least. 
Here’s a clear stretch of road ahead — step on the 
gas.” 

Instinctively, Kitty followed his suggestion and 
the car shot ahead. The wind fanned their cheeks 
through the opened windshield, and Kitty was con- 


220 


A Startling Encounter 

scious of a feeling of exhilaration as they tore on- 
ward, gathering speed with each throb of the power- 
ful engine. In the distance Kitty descried a car ap- 
proaching and dimmed her headlights. The cour- 
tesy was not returned; instead a spotlight swung 
directly on them and Kitty, blinded by the glare, 
swerved to the right as the oncoming car swept up. 
She heard a deafening report, something swished 
by her, and the car raced up the road they had just 
traversed. 

Checking the speed of her own car, Kitty swung 
it back into the center of the road and turned, white- 
lipped, to Rodgers. 

‘‘How dare they drive like that!’’ she gasped. 
“They must be drunk or era — ” Her voice failed 
her at sight of Rodgers sitting huddled back in the 
car — there was something unnatural in his pose 
which chilled the blood in her veins. “Ted!” 

Her call met with no response. 

Slowly she put out her hand and touched his 
shoulder; then her hand crept upward to his face 
and forehead. What she touched felt moist and 
sticky. She jerked her hand downward so that the 
light from the dash-lamp fell upon it. It was cov- 
ered with blood. 

There was a sound of a thousand Niagaras roar- 
ing in her ears as she brought the roadster to a 
standstill and turned to Rodgers. Bending down 


221 


The Cat's Paw 


she pressed her ear over his heart — its feeble beat 
reassured her — he was still alive. 

Kitty searched frantically for her handkerchief 
and for his. Tying them together she bound his 
wound as best she could ; then with compressed lips 
and in breathless haste she started the car headlong 
for Washington. As they tore madly down the 
road, one question only throbbed through her aching 
head : 

Who had shot her lover? 


CHAPTER XVII 


‘‘K. B » 

I NSPECTOR MITCHELL looked at the po- 
liceman standing in front of his desk with 
approval. 

‘‘You have done well, Donovan,’’ he exclaimed. 
“Exactly at what hour was Major Leigh Wallace 
seen leaving ‘Rose Hill’ on Sunday afternoon?” 

“Mrs. Murray claims that it was about five 
o’clock or a little after,” Donovan replied, consulting 
his notes. 

“And why hasn’t she reported this before?” 
“She’s been ill with the grippe, and all news of the 
murder was kept from her,” the policeman an- 
swered. “She told her boy to-day, after learning 
about Miss Baird’s death, to watch for me when I 
was on my beat. I went over to see her the moment 
my relief came. It wasn’t an hour ago,” looking at 
the office clock which registered half-past nine, “Mrs. 
Murray said she would be glad to talk to you to- 
morrow, but to-night she feels too weak.” 

“Which is her house?” 

223 


The Cat's Paw 

‘The one next to the Baird mansion on the east — 
this way — ” Donovan moved his hands about to 
demonstrate his sense of direction. “It’s the house 
you have to pass to return to Washington.” 

“Was Major Wallace in his car on Sunday after- 
noon ?” 

“No, sir, he was walking.” Donovan waited a 
moment before adding, “Mrs. Murray swears she 
knows Major Wallace well by sight ; that she’s seen 
him too often waiting for Miss Kitty Baird to be 
mistaken. She was just stepping into her front walk 
when the Major brushed by her in such a devil of a 
hurry that he nearly knocked her down.” 

Mitchell closed the drawers of his desk, locked 
them, and arose. “That is all now, Donovan,” he 
said. “Report at once if you obtain any further 
information. Don’t wait to come in person, tele- 
phone.” 

“All right. Inspector,” and saluting, Donovan 
hurried away. The door had hardly closed after 
him before it opened to admit a plain clothes de- 
tective. 

“Well, Welsh, what luck?” Mitchell asked eag- 
erly. 

“An old colored man did board the three o’clock 
train this afternoon for Front Royal, Inspector,” 
he reported. “The gatekeeper and one of the por- 
224 


“K. Br 

ters declared that he answered the description you 
furnished/^ 

‘‘Was a woman with him?” 

“No, sir; not that I can find out. Every one 
swears that the old man was alone.” 

Mitchell considered the answer in silence. “There 
is nothing for it but a trip to Front Royal,” he said 
finally. “Go there, Welsh, and find out if Oscar 
Jackson arrived there to-day on the three o* clock 
train — no later train, mind you — from Washington. 
I understood Mr. Rodgers to say that Oscar is from 
Front Royal and has relatives living in its vicinity. 
Therefore he is known and I donT anticipate that 
you will have difficulty in locating him. Keep me 
informed by telephone.” 

“Very good. Inspector.” Welsh paused half way 
to the door as a thought struck him. “Did you get 
a message from Mr. Benjamin Potter?” 

“No. What did he want?” 

“He didn’t say.” Welsh again started for the 
door. “Just asked to have you call him up. Wasn’t 
his wife one of the witnesses at the Baird inquest?” 

“She was — ” Mitchell was already reaching for 
the telephone directory. “As you go out, Welsh, 
tell Allen to bring my car around at once.” 

Getting the Potter apartment on the telephone was 
more difficult than Mitchell expected ; the naturalist 
used a private wire and it was only by virtue of his 
225 


The Cat's Paw 


office that Mitchell was supplied with the number by 
“Information.” Another wait ensued as Central 
claimed the wire “busy,” and it was with perceptible 
irritation that the Inspector answered the hoarse, 
“Hello,” that finally responded to his repeated calls. 

“Can I speak to Mr. Potter ?” he asked. 

“Mr. Potter is out — ” a violent cough interrupted 
the speaker. “Is there any message ?” 

“Who is speaking?” 

“Mrs. Potter.” 

“I beg pardon. Madam.” Mitchell moderated his 
voice. “This is Detective Headquarters — Inspector 
Mitchell on the ’phone. Your husband left word for 
me to telephone to him. Do you know what he 
wished ?” 

“No.” The curtness of her tone annoyed Mit- 
chell. 

“When will your husband return?” he asked, 
raising his voice. 

“Very soon, I imagine.” There was a pause, and 
Mitchell concluded she was consulting her watch, 
for she went on, “It is nearly ten o’clock. Shall I 
have Mr. Potter call you?” 

Mitchell considered before replying. “No. I 
may have to go out, so I will ring him up. Thank 
you. Madam; good night.” He barely caught her 
hoarsely echoed “Good night,” before hanging up 
the receiver. 


226 


“K. B." 


Mitchell paused to jot down the Potters’ telephone 
number in his notebook, then, securing his hat and 
overcoat, made for the street. Only pausing to ex- 
change a hasty greeting with a brother officer, he 
jumped into the police car. 

‘The Baird house in Georgetown, Allen,” he 
directed, and sat in impatient silence as they whirled 
through the city streets. He was tired of inaction. 
Whatever the hour he could not rest until he had 
interviewed Kitty Baird. Mitchell had gained his 
promotion to inspector through ability, backed by 
dogged detemination. He had early decided that 
the mystery of Miss Baird’s murder could best be 
solved through watching Kitty Baird and, as he had 
expressed it earlier that evening to Coroner Pen- 
field, “wringing the truth from her.” 

“She benefited by her aunt’s death and, by heaven, 
she is the only one living who did,” he had declared. 
“And it stands one hundred to one that if she doesn’t 
actually know who bumped her aunt off, she can-^ 
make a mighty accurate guess.” 

Mitchell’s temper did not cool down on his arrival 
at “Rose Hill,” but on the contrary gathered heat 
as he stood before the front door and rang the bell 
with increasing vigor as the minutes lengthened. 
The door was finally opened a tiny bit, and through 
the crack a pair of beady black eyes peered at him 
in the uncertain light. 

227 


The Cat's Paw 


‘"Who’s dar?” demanded Mandy, her trembling 
tones belying her belligerent attitude as she braced 
herself so as to shut the door in case the caller 
pushed against it. 

“Inspector Mitchell,” the latter announced briefly. 
“Let me in, Mandy.” 

Slowly the door was pulled open, but it was not 
until the old servant could distinguish Mitchell’s 
features with the aid of the hall light that she 
stepped aside and allowed him to enter. 

“What yo’ want?” she asked. 

“To see Miss Kitty Baird.” 

“At this time o’ night?” in scandalized surprise. 

“That’s all right about the hour,” with marked 
impatience. “Go tell her I am here.” 

Mandy wavered — the power of the law as repre- 
sented by a policeman, not to mention an inspector, 
loomed large in her vision. 

“Miss Kitty am out,” she announced briefly. 

“At this hour?” Mitchell smiled skeptically. “Go 
call her, Mandy.” 

“ ’Deed I’se tellin’ yo’ de truff,” she protested. 
“She went out wif Mister Edward Rodgers early in 
de evenin’, an’ she ain’t come back, ’cause I’se been 
awaitin’ up fo’ her.” 

Mitchell stared at Mandy, then, putting out his 
hand, shut the front door. 

228 


“K. B.” 


“Go to bed,” he said, not unkindly. “Fll wait 
here and let Miss Baird in when she returns.” 

But Mandy did not budge. “Yo’ means well,” 
she said, somewhat mollified. “But I cain't go to 
bed ’till Miss Kitty gets in. If yo’ care to set awhile, 
come right in to de li’bry.” 

Mitchell stopped her as she turned to go down the 
hall. “Let me stay in the parlor,” he said. “I can 
see Miss Baird and Mr. Rodgers when they drive 
up. I wish to speak to Mr. Rodgers as well as Miss 
Baird, and he may leave without entering the 
house.” 

Mandy retraced her steps to a closed door. “De 
parlor’s been kep’ shut up so long I ’spects yo’ll 
freeze,” she said. “Dar ain’t much heat comes in 
hyar from de furnace.” 

“That’s all right ; I’ll keep on my overcoat.” Mit- 
chell stepped briskly into the room. “Let me light 
the gas, Mandy,” as the old servant fumbled with 
the gas fixture, stiffened from lack of use. “Run 
along, now.” 

“Yes, sir,” but Mandy lingered by the door. “I’ll 
be up in Miss Kitty’s bedroom — jes’ fetch a yell ef 
yo’ needs me. Mister Inspector.” 

As he listened to Mandy’s halting footsteps grow- 
ing fainter and fainter as she climbed wearily up- 
stairs, Mitchell contemplated the large square room 
filled with “period” furniture. The old brocades 
229 


The Cat's Paw 


were shabby and the rugs worn, but there was an 
indefinable atmosphere of the refinement of a by- 
gone generation which time and neglect had not de- 
stroyed. 

Mitchell raised the shades in the windows over- 
looking Q Street and peered outside. No auto- 
mobile except his own, waiting at the curb, was in 
sight. Satisfied on that point, he opened the win- 
dow ever so slightly that he might be sure and hear 
a car drive up to the door, and then, to occupy his 
time, he wandered about the room and examined the 
many pieces of bric-a-brac on the mantel and in 
cabinets. 

One cabinet in particular attracted his attention. 
It was a fine piece of Florentine workmanship and 
remarkably well preserved. The floor of the cabinet 
held miniatures of, presumably, ancestors of Miss 
Susan Baird, and after a cursory glance at them, 
Mitchell scanned the articles on the glass shelves. 
A set of carved ivory chessmen awoke his admira- 
tion and observing that the key was in the door of 
the cabinet he opened it. After examining the little 
chessmen, he turned his attention to the ivory check- 
ers and then to the two ivory cups for holding dice. 
The carving on them was very fine and to see. them 
better Mitchell carried them to the gas light. 

Glancing at the red dice cup, he was surprised to 
find cotton stuffed inside it. Setting down the other 


2^0 


“K. B.” 


cup, Mitchell pulled out the layer of cotton and 
found a small bottle standing upright. It was held 
in the center of the cup by cotton packed around it. 
Drawing out the bottle he held it up to the light. It 
was almost empty. Mitchell pulled out the glass 
stopper and sniffed at the contents. A distinct smell 
of bitter almonds caused him to draw in his breath 
sharply. 

‘Trussic acid!” he muttered. ‘‘By God! And 
Miss Susan Baird was poisoned with a dose of it.” 

There was no label on the small phial. Taking 
out his handkerchief Mitchell replaced the glass 
stopper, and wrapped his handkerchief about the 
phial. Putting it carefully in his pocket, he paused 
for a moment to take another look at the dice cups, 
then replaced them in the cabinet. He and two of 
his assistants had made a complete and searching 
examination of the parlor immediately after the dis- 
covery of the crime. Mitchell was willing to swear 
that neither cotton nor phial had been in the dice cup 
then. Who had hidden the incriminating evidence 
there? Who had had the opportunity to do so? 
Kitty Baird .... 

Mitchell frowned heavily as he ran over in his 
mind the list of callers at the Baird home since the 
tragedy became known. The house was under sur- 
veillance and he felt confident no one had evaded 
the watchful eyes of his operatives. He dismissed 
231 


The Cats Paw 


the majority of callers — friends and acquaintances 
who had left cards and letters of condolence — and 
his thoughts centered on those whom old Oscar had 
admitted — Charles Craige, Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin 
Potter, Edward Rodgers, and Major Leigh Wallace 
— but to the best of his knowledge the Major had 
not been inside the Baird house. He had seen Kitty 
and Wallace arrive that afternoon, but Wallace had 
departed without entering; therefore, he could not 
have had an opportunity to secrete the bottle of 
poison in the ivory dice cup. 

But Mitchell's puzzled expression did not lighten, 
instead it deepened. He was wrong, Wallace had 
been in the house after the discovery of the murder, 
for he had accompanied Dr. Leonard McLean to the 
house on Monday morning. Could the young officer 
have slipped unseen into the parlor and concealed 
the bottle of poison while he, Mitchell, and Coroner 
Penfield were superintending the removal of Miss 
Baird's body from the library to her bedroom? 

Bah ! the idea was absurd. A man would not re- 
turn to the scene of a murder with incriminating 
evidence in his pocket when he had had hours in 
which to throw away the poison without arousing 
suspicion. But supposing Wallace had, in the horror 
of the moment, forgotten the bottle? Mitchell 
shook his head in disbelief. Whoever perpetrated 
so coM-blooded and premeditated a crime was not 
232 


“K. Br 


apt to overlook getting rid of the poison at the first 
opportunity. 

With Wallace eliminated, Mitchell turned his 
thoughts to Kitty’s other callers — Ben Potter and 
his pretty wife, and Charles Craige, the brilliant 
lawyer and popular clubman. Mitchell smiled 
broadly — no possible motive linked them in any way, 
shape or manner with the crime. Edward Rodgers 
— Mitchell frowned as Mrs. Parsons’ confidences re- 
curred to him. Whatever his connection with the 
Holt will case, nothing had occurred to associate 
Rodgers with the murder of Miss Baird. The fact 
that he was madly in love with her niece was patent 
to all, but it did not constitute evidence that he had 
a hand in murdering her aunt. 

The exhaust from an automobile broke the still- 
ness and Mitchell paused only long enough at the 
window to see that a car had stopped near his. The 
next second he was hurrying down the terraced 
steps, his mind made up. Kitty had quarreled with 
her aunt on Sunday afternoon; she had inherited 
her wealth, and she had had the greatest opportunity 
to slip the bottle of prussic acid into its hiding place 
unknown to any one. There were questions which 
Kitty alone could answer, and she must answer them 
immediately. 

As Mitchell hurried to the side of the automobile,. 

233 


The Cat's Paw 

its owner stepped on the running board and faced 
him. 

*'Mr. Potter !” exclaimed Mitchell. “Did they tell 
you at Headquarters that I was here ?’' 

Potter peered at him in uncertainty for a second. 
“Oh, Inspector,” he said. “Pm glad to see you, but 
I had no idea you were here. The fact is,” lowering 
his voice as Allen, tired of waiting in Mitchell's car, 
climbed out on the sidewalk and drew near the two 
men. “My wife called up Miss Baird and couldn't 
get an answer. We both felt concerned about my 
cousin and I ran over to see if anything was the mat- 
ter. Why are you here ?” 

“I wanted to talk to Miss Baird,” Mitchell an- 
swered. “However, she is out — ” 

“Out? At this hour?” 

“Yes. Mandy told me that she was motoring 
with Mr. Rodgers,” explained Mitchell. “I decided 
to wait for her return, and when you drove up, I 
thought it was Mr. Rodgers.” 

Potter's expression hardened. “I don't approve 
of Kitty going out at night with Rodgers without a 
chaperon,” he grumbled. “Nor is it proper for her 
to live in this lonely house with only ignorant ser- 
vants.” He turned back to his car and lifted out a 
camera and several packages. “Kitty left these at 
our apartment on Saturday, and Nina asked me to 
234 


“K. B.” 

bring them to her before the chemicals get mixed 
with mine.” 

“Chemicals,” repeated Mitchell softly. “What 
kind of chemicals?” 

“For developing negatives.” Potter started for 
the house and Mitchell kept pace with him. “Kitty 
has quite a craze that way — does good work for an 
amateur. Some of her animal studies are excellent, 
especially of her cat, Mouchette.” 

“Seems to me there are quite a number of poisons 
used in developing films and negatives,” Mitchell 
remarked thoughtfully. 

“Yes, get all you want at a kodak shop. Kitty 
bought a new supply last Saturday,” Potter replied 
carelessly. “Good Lord ! What's that ?” 

The exclamation was drawn from him by the 
sound of a motor horn which grew in volume as the 
car approached nearer and both men looked down 
Q Street. 

“Gee ! Some one’s breaking the law 1” exclaimed 
Allen, attracted by the oncoming car whose head- 
lights brightened the whole street. 

With a grinding of brakes and totally regardless 
of stopping on the wrong side of the street, the 
driver drew up to the curb close to the three men 
and Mitchell recognized Kitty Baird sitting behind 
the steering wheel. 

“Come here, quick!” she called. QuickC 

235 


The Cat's Taw 


‘^Kitty!” Potter sprang to her side. “WhaPs 
wrong, child? What’s happened? Don’t look so 
terrified.” 

‘‘Ted has been shot!” Kitty was on the sidewalk 
and around the car with lightning speed. ‘'Don’t 
stand there talking — ^help me carry Ted into my 
house and then go for a doctor,” 

Mitchell brushed her unceremoniously aside and 
looked in the car. The sight of Rodgers’ uncon- 
scious form called for action. 

“Come here, Allen,” he called. “Take hold— 
gently, man, gently.” 

It seemed an age to Kitty before the three men 
carried their burden up the long terraced steps and 
into the house. 

“Go up to the bedroom at the head of the stairs,” 
she directed. “Mandy,” to the colored woman who, 
aroused by the noise of tramping feet and voices, 
appeared at the top of the staircase. “Show them 
into the spare bedroom and help them get the bed 
ready for Mr. Rodgers. I’ll telephone at once for 
Dr. McLean.” 

Twenty minutes later Kitty stood with clenched 
hands waiting for the surgeon’s verdict. She had 
paced the hall until physical exhaustion had called a 
halt. 

“Will he live, doctor?” she asked. “Don’t keep 
236 


“K. B” 


me in suspense.” And the agony in her eyes caused 
McLean to hurry his usually slow speech. 

'‘Yes, if there are no complications — ” 

Kitty waited to hear no more. Turning abruptly, 
she stumbled toward her own room — she could not 
face any one just then. She had reached the end of 
endurance. 

"Miss Baird,” Mitchell's stern voice caused her 
to falter just outside her bedroom door. "Who 
shot Edward Rodgers ?” 

"I don't know,” she stammered. "We were com- 
ing home through Rock Creek Park and a car 
dashed by us. I was blinded by its headlights. I 
heard a report — ” she caught her breath sharply. 
"I turned and found Mr. Rodgers sitting uncon- 
scious — wounded as you found him. I brought him 
home — ah, I can't talk to you now — go — go 1” And 
she half walked, half staggered across the threshold 
of her bedroom and into Mandy's sympathetic arms. 

Mitchell went slowly downstairs and out into the 
street. Allen, his chauffeur, was standing by Ed- 
ward Rodgers' car, and at sight of the inspector 
waved a beckoning hand. 

"See here. Sir,” he said, turning the rays of his 
electric torch into the body of the roadster. "See 
that!” 

Mitchell stared at the revolver for several seconds. 

237 


The Cat's Taw 


It lay just under the gear shift. Putting on his 
gloves, Mitchell picked it up gingerly. 

‘'Have you handled the revolver, Allen he 
asked. 

"No, sir. After the doctor and the nurse came, I 
returned here and put out the headlights which Miss 
Baird had left burning; then I saw the revolver 
lying just there on the floor of the car.’' 

A step behind him caused Mitchell to turn around. 

"Hello, what have you there?” asked Ben Potter. 

"A revolver.” Mitchell held it so that Allen’s 
torch fell directly upon it. "And a revolver which 
has been recently discharged judging from the smell 
of burnt powder.” 

Potter whistled, then bent down for a better look. 
"By heaven!” he exclaimed. "That’s Kitty’s re- 
volver. I had her initials engraved upon it — see — ” 

And turning the revolver slightly, Mitchell was 
able to decipher the letters on the plate: "K.B.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ELUSIVE CLUES 

I NSPECTOR MITCHELL felt extremely 
pleased with himself as he hurried along Seven- 
teenth Street in the direction of the Munitions 
Building. In his interview with Mrs. Augustus 
Murray of Georgetown, an hour before, he had been 
unable to shake her confidence in her claim that she 
had met Major Leigh Wallace leaving the Baird 
mansion on Sunday afternoon about five minutes 
past five o’clock. Mrs Murray supplemented her 
original statement with the information that the 
Major never had the decency to apologize to her, 
when he ran against her in his blind haste. 

Upon leaving Mrs. Murray, Inspector Mitchell 
went at once to Major Wallace’s boarding house 
where he learned that he had missed the young offi- 
cer by ten minutes only. 

“He’s gone to the Army Dispensary in the Muni- 
tions Building for treatment, Mrs. Harris, the 
landlady, informed him. “Dear knows, I hope the 

239 


The Cat's Paw 


treatment does him some good. The way he moans 
in his sleep is something awful.” 

*‘Ah, is Major Wallace troubled with insomnia?” 
asked Mitchell. 

‘T don’t know what he’s troubled with.” Mrs. 
Harris was not blessed with an even temper, and 
when it was aroused generally vented her ill-humor 
on the first person encountered. ‘‘His room is next 
to mine and the partition is mighty thin. It makes 
my flesh crawl to hear him moan and when he cries 
out, ‘Kitty!’ and again, ‘That damned cat,’ I just 
have to pound on the wall and wake him up.” 

“Perhaps he has an antipathy to cats,” remarked 
Mitchell, restraining a smile. 

“Mebbe he has ; anyway I can’t say that I’m sorry 
he’s going — ” 

“Going where?” 

“Out west somewhere,” vaguely. “If you hurry 
you may catch Major Wallace at the Dispensary; 
he’s usually there about two hours.” And taking 
the broad hint Mitchell bowed himself out of the 
boarding house. 

Unable to secure a taxi-cab at the Dupont Circle 
stand in place of the police car and Allen, whom he 
had sent on an errand earlier in the morning, Mit- 
chell boarded a southbound street car and, standing 
on the forward platform, kept a sharp look-out for 
Major Wallace. He reached the corner of H Street, 
240 


Elusive Clues 


however, without catching up with him, and leaving 
the car continued on down Seventeenth Street. 

So absorbed was Inspcetor Mitchell in his own 
thoughts that he failed to return Mrs. Parsons’ bow 
as her motor passed him on its way up the street. 
At a word from Mrs. Parsons, her chauffeur swung 
the touring car around and up to the curb just as 
Mitchell started to cross D Street. The sound of 
his name caused him to glance around and he saw 
Mrs. Parsons beckoning to him. 

''Can I give you a lift. Inspector?” she asked as 
he approached. "You appear to be in a hurry.” 

"Thanks.” Mitchell wasted no superfluous words 
but seated himself with alacrity by Mrs. Parsons’ 
side. 

"Where to, sir?” questioned the chauffeur, touch- 
ing his cap as he closed the door. 

"Munitions Building — that is,” and Mitchell 
turned inquiringly toward Mrs. Parsons, "if it won’t 
take you out of your way?” 

"Not at all,” Mrs. Parsons’ smile was most en- 
gaging. "The car and I are at your service. Inspec- 
tor. I have no engagements this morning.” She 
paused to wave her hand to the occupants of a pass- 
ing car, then turned once more to the silent inspec- 
tor. "Has anything new developed in the Baird 
murder mystery?” 


241 


The Cat's Paw 


‘‘Only what was in the morning newspapers/' 
answered Mitchell guardedly. 

Mrs. Parsons' gay laugh interrupted him. ‘‘I ap- 
plaud your caution/' she said. ‘The morning news- 
papers contained no news whatever. Perhaps my 
question was overstepping etiquette, but how about 
the other matter about which I consulted you? I 
mean Edward Rodgers and his erstwhile friend, 
Major Leigh Wallace. What of them?" 

Mitchell considered the pretty widow before re- 
plying. Her limpid brown eyes were raised to his 
with an appealing earnestness that was irresistible. 

“I am on my way to see Major Wallace now," he 
said. “I had hoped to overtake him before he 
reached the Munitions Building." 

“Not by walking, surely," she laughed. “Major 
Wallace is driving his car to-day and he seldom 
keeps within the city's speed limit. And to-day was 
no exception judging from the way he passed me 
on the way downtown." 

“Indeed?" He turned so that he could face her 
as they talked. “His landlady informed me that 
Major Wallace plans to leave shortly for the west." 

Mrs. Parsons raised her eyebrows in polite sur- 
prise. “So soon," she murmured. “How odd! 
And — " her voice gained in sharpness, “does Ed- 
ward Rodgers also plan to leave Washington?" 

“I don't know what he had planned," with quiet 
242 


Elusive Clues 

emphasis. ‘‘But he is not going anywhere just 
now.’* 

“Why not?” 

“Because he was shot last night.” 

Mrs. Parsons’ convulsive jump almost precipi- 
tated her out of the car as the chauffeur made the 
turn into the street leading to the Munitions Build- 
ing. 

“What — what did you say?” she stammered. 

“I did not mean to startle you,” Mitchell spoke 
contritely, alarmed by her pallor. “I thought that 
you had heard the news.” 

“I have heard nothing — ” she spoke rapidly, clip- 
ping her words. “There was nothing in the morn- 
ing paper — ” 

“No, we didn’t give it out to the press.” 

“Then how did you expect me to know anything 
of the shooting?” 

“I thought Miss Kitty Baird might have tele- 
phoned to you — ” Mitchell was watching her closely. 
“She didn’t, eh?” 

“No.” Mrs. Parsons sat back more comfortably 
in her car. “Was Mr. Rodgers killed?” 

Mitchell shook his head. “Seriously injured,” he 
said soberly. “It’s a bad business.” 

“How did the shooting occur?” she asked. The 
car had stopped before the lower entrance to the 
Munitions Building, but Mrs. Parsons motioned to 
243 


The Caf s Paw 

her chauffeur to wait as he started to open the car 
door. 

‘‘Oh, some one was skylarking in Rock Creek 
Park and shot Mr. Rodgers as he and Miss Kitty 
Baird were motoring home last night, explained 
Mitchell. “Another case of an innocent bystander.” 

“It was an accident, then.” Mrs. Parsons raised 
her scented handkerchief and touched her lips. “I 
thought — it just occurred to me that he might have 
tried suicide.” 

Mitchell regarded her fixedly for a second. “You 
haven’t a great admiration for Edward Rodgers,” 
he remarked dryly. “No, it was not a case of sui- 
cide.” He stepped to the sidewalk. “Thanks very 
much, Mrs. Parsons, for bringing me down. Good 
morning.” 

Mrs. Parsons controlled her impulse to stop him. 

“Good morning,” she answered, and her voice 
was honey-sweet, but her chauffeur, happening to 
meet her glance, quailed at the flash of rage which 
darkened her eyes and then was gone. “ ‘Rose Hill,’ 
Perkins.” The sharp command caused him to thank 
his stars that he had left his engine running. Mrs. 
Parsons’ uncertain temper had not endeared her to 
her servants. 

The trip to Georgetown consumed less than ten 
minutes and Mrs. Parsons had assumed her ordi- 
nary expression of tranquil boredom when Perkins 
244 


Elusive Clues 


returned with the message that “Miss Baird would 
be happy to see Mrs. Parsons.'’ 

It was the first time Mrs. Parsons had been to 
call upon Kitty since the murder of her aunt, and 
she could not repress curious glances about her as 
she passed Mandy and went into the familiar library. 
She had hardly seated herself before the sound of 
a light footstep on the staircase leading down from 
the gallery into the library caused her to look up and 
she saw Kitty. 

“My dear child!" she exclaimed, advancing with 
outstretched hands which Kitty grasped while sub- 
mitting gracefully to the dainty kiss which accom- 
panied her greeting. “My heart aches for you. 
Your face tells me how you have suffered !" and she 
traced the dark circles under Kitty's eyes with her 
finger-tip. “Is there nothing I can do for you ?" 

Kitty did not reply at once; instead she busied 
herself in pulling forward a chair. She was given 
to acting upon impulse and Mrs. Parsons* unex- 
pected appearance clinched a half-formed resolve 
made in the early hours of the morning while watch- 
ing by Edward Rodgers' bedside. 

“There is something you can do," she said, and 
her smile was very winning. “Tell me why you 
wrote a note of warning to Leigh Wallace ?" 

The question was unexpected and Mrs. Parsons 
was taken off her guard. 

245 


The Cat's Paw 

‘'He showed it to you !” she gasped. “How dared 
he?” 

Kitty watched the color come and go in Mrs. 
Parsons’ white cheeks with interest. It was seldom 
that the widow showed emotion. “I am waiting for 
an answer to my question,” she reminded her quiet- 

Jy- 

“Let Leigh Wallace supply the answer.” Mrs. 
Parsons had herself in hand again. “He can — if he 
has not already left town.” 

Kitty did her best to repress a start, but the keen 
eyes watching her under half -closed lids detected it. 

“Suppose we leave Leigh out of the question,” 
Kitty controlled her voice admirably. “Would you 
rather answer me or the police ?” 

“The police?” Mrs. Parsons laughed tolerantly. 
“Dear child, the strain you hayje been under distorts 
your ideas. Why the police?” 

“Because they are endeavoring to solve the mys- 
tery of my aunt’s murder.” Kitty nothing daunted 
by the older woman’s evasions was determined to 
fight in the open. “I am convinced, Mrs. Parsons, 
that Leigh — and you — have a guilty knowledge of 
that crime.” 

Only the most astute observer could have trans- 
lated the swift change in Mrs. Parsons’ expression. 
Even to Kitty’s prejudiced ears her low amused 
laugh rang true. 


246 


Elusive Clues 


‘‘You have dug up a mare's nest," Mrs. Parsons 
replied. ‘‘To think that you should consider that I 
had a hand in poor, dear Miss Susan's death ! Why, 
my dear, it would be insulting if it was not ludic- 
rous." 

Kitty flushed with wrath; Mrs. Parsons’ ridicule 
was hard to bear. After all, was the widow right — 
had she dug up a mare's nest? There was nothing 
but that note of warning to Leigh Wallace to con- 
nect her in the slightest degree with the tragedy. 

“Will you tell me to what your note referred," 
she asked, “if not to my aunt's murder?" 

“You overstep my patience." Mrs. Parsons drew 
herself up with a displeased gesture. “I decline to 
be questioned further on the subject." 

“Miss Baird — " the interruption came from the 
doorway and both Kitty and her guest whirled 
ground to see a white-capped nurse watching them. 
“Mr. Rodgers keeps calling for you. Will you come, 
please ?" 

“Yes, immediately." Kitty was half way to the 
door when Mrs. Parsons addressed her with eager- 
ness in her voice. 

“Is Mr. Rodgers here?” . she asked. 

“Yes.” Kitty's impatience was marked. “We 
brought him here after the — the accident. Dr. Mc- 
Lean thought it best not to move him to a hospital. 
Please don't detain me." 

•247 


The Caf s Paw 


‘*But, my dear,” Mrs. Parsons paused just in 
front of her. ^*Are you here alone — unchaperoned ?” 

“My cousin, Nina Potter, came last night to be 
with me — ” 

“Oh, I am relieved,” Mrs. Parsons purred out the 
words. “No one can afford to defy the conventions. 
If your cousin was not here, I would volunteer my- 
self—” 

“Thanks — excuse me, Mrs. Parsons — ” The 
portieres opened and closed behind her vanishing 
figure and Mrs. Parsons found herself alone in the 
library. 

Raising her gold lorgnette Mrs. Parsons took a 
prolonged survey of the throne-shaped chair stand- 
ing in its customary place behind the tea table. It 
required but little stretch of the imagination to vis- 
ualize Miss Susan Baird presiding over the tea cups, 
her hawklike nose and piercing eyes. In spite of 
the warmth of the library, Mrs. Parsons shivered 
and drew her costly fur coat more closely about her. 

With some hesitancy she approached the tea table 
and scanned the antique silver tea service. She had 
admired it on many occasions. Taking up the tea- 
pot she reversed it and tried to decipher the hall 
mark ; failing to do so she examined first the cream 
pitcher and then the sugar bowl. As she lowered the 
bowl, she glanced across the tea table and saw two 
248 


Elusive Clues 

large yellow eyes regarding her from the throne- 
shaped chair. 

Mouchette stood in the chair with her fore-paws 
resting on the table and her fluffy tail was lashing 
itself into a fury. It was the cat’s evident intention 
to spring upon the table and Mrs. Parsons retreated 
precipitously. She hated cats. As she passed the 
table, she dropped the sugar bowl on its polished 
surface. The bowl skidded, half righted itself, then 
fell to the floor, the heavy rug deadening the noise. 
With it went a small object unseen by Mrs. Parsons 
who, not stopping to pick up the bowl, proceeded 
into the hall. 

Mouchette, surprised by Mrs. Parsons’ rapid re- 
treat, stood where she was for an instant, then 
jumped lightly to the floor and sniffed at the sugar 
bowl. Going over to the small object lying by the 
bowl she sniffed at that, stretched out an inquisitive 
paw, gave it a gentle pat, watched it roll a short dis- 
tance, then convinced that she had a plaything after 
her own heart, the cat proceeded to roll it hither and 
yon. 

Mrs. Parsons was making straight for the front 
door when she caught sight of some one in the par- 
lor, the door of which stood ajar. With a quiet air 
of authority she entered the room. So silently did 
she move that not until Nina Potter turned away 
from the Florentine cabinet was she aware of Mrs, 
249 


The Cat's Paw 


Parsons* presence. The ivory chessman which she 
held slipped from her fingers and shattered on the 
hardwood floor. 

“Oh, what a pity!*’ Mrs. Parsons* air of concern 
sat prettily upon her. “My dear Nina, did I startle 
you? I am so distressed.** 

“You did,** admitted Nina with a rueful smile. 
“The quinine I have taken for my cold has made me 
quite deaf. Does Kitty know that you are here ?** 

“I have just seen her,** Mrs. Parsons selected a 
chair and motioned Nina to one beside it. She did 
not propose to have her call cut short. She had 
found her source of information. “Kitty had to go 
upstairs to be with Edward Rodgers. When did 
the shooting occur?** 

“Late last night.** Nina moved uneasily; she 
knew Mrs. Parsons* predilection for scandal. 

“And where — ** with gentle insistence. 

“In Rock Creek Park.** Nina’s hoarse voice 
rasped Mrs. Parsons* ears. She was sensitive to 
sound. “Ben was here when Kitty returned with 
Ted Rodgers, and he came right home and brought 
me back to stay with Kitty.** 

Mrs. Parsons eyed her in silence, noting every 
detail of her pretty morning dress as well as the 
unusual redness of her eyelids and the nervous 
twitching of her hands. 

“How fortunate for you,** she exclaimed. Nina 
250 


Elusive Clues 


looked up and caught her eyes ; for a moment their 
glances held, then Nina looked away. 

don’t catch your meaning,” she faltered. 

^'No?” — with a rising inflection which implied 
doubt, and Nina blushed painfully. Mrs. Parsons 
avoided looking at her; instead she inspected the 
furniture in the parlor and shuddered. ‘‘Such taste 
in decoration,” she said calmly. “But then Kitty 
can change all that with the fortune Miss Susan 
Baird left to her. What a sensation the news of her 
wealth has made in Washington ! Has no one asked 
you how Miss Baird acquired it?” 

Nina’s color slowly ebbed away. The eyes she 
turned on Mrs. Parsons were like some hunted ani- 
mal. 

“You — ^you know?” she stammered. 

Mrs. Parsons nodded her head. 

“Confide in me, my dear Nina,” she spoke with a 
world of sympathy in voice and manner. “I know 
that I can aid you.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


SUSPICION 

I T was not often that Charles Craige was late in 
keeping an appointment with Mrs. Parsons. 
But the pretty widow had occasion to glance 
repeatedly at her parlor clock with ever increasing 
annoyance before she heard the butler ushering 
some one upstairs. She masked her displeasure 
under a smiling face. 

“Ah, Charles, what has detained you she asked, 
as he bent low over her hand and kissed it. 

“Pressing business,^^ he answered. “I am deeply 
sorry to be late, Cecelia. Judge McMasters simply 
would not hurry. Has Ben Potter been here?*’ 
“Not to-day.” Mrs. Parsons* surprise at the ques- 
tion was manifest. “You know he is not one of my 
favorites. He bored me to death in San Francisco; 
he is so intense — ** she shrugged her shoulders. “I 
saw his wife this morning.** 

“Indeed?** Craige selected a cigarette from the 
box on the table and accepted a lighted match. 

252 


Suspicion 


''Silly sentimental little fool,” commented Mrs. 
Parsons. "Just the kind of wife Ben could have 
been counted on to pick out.” 

"Men usually marry to please themselves.” Craige 
laughed. "Ben telephoned me an hour ago and said 
that he was coming around to see you — ” 

"What about?” 

"He did not state.” Craige looked at her in sur- 
prise, abruptness was not usual with her. "He may 
come at any moment — ” glancing at his watch. It 
lacked five minutes of the hour. "I stopped at the 
bank this morning and President Walsh said he 
would accept your note for two thousand dollars 
provided you have collateral — ” 

"Certainly.” Mrs. Parsons colored deeply. "In 
fact, I am not sure that I shall need the loan from 
the bank. I was only temporarily embarrassed until 
my property in San Francisco is sold. To-day,” she 
paused, "I have arranged another matter satisfac- 
torily. It is kind of you, Charles, very kind, to 
handle my business for me.” 

"My dearest Cecelia — ” Craige laid his hand on 
heFs. "I am happiest when I serve you.” 

Her eyes sparkled with a hint of tears. "I am 
grateful,” she murmured. "You have been so good, 
so very good since I came to Washington.” 

"Cecelia!” Craige bent forward impulsively, but 
she drew away from his embrace. 

253 


The Cat's Paw 

‘‘Not now, dear,’’ she protested. “You know you 
promised — ” 

Craige’s handsome face, alight with eagerness, 
altered. “I will keep my word — he said. “One 
month, Cecelia, and then the whole world is to know 
of my happiness — ” 

“Our happiness — she corrected softly. Craige 
caught her hands and pressed the palms against his 
face before kissing them with lingering tender- 
ness. 

**A la bonne heure!” he exclaimed, and his voice 
betrayed his happiness. “Cecelia, you grow prettier 
every day.” 

“My mirror is not so kind as you, Charles !” A 
sigh accompanied the words, and she swiftly 
changed the subject. “Have you seen Kitty Baird 
to-day?” 

“I am on my way there now.” A worried 
look crossed his face. “That poor girl seems 
fated for tragedy. You heard of the attempt 
to kill Ted Rodgers last night in the Park, did you 
not?” 

“I understood that it was an accident.” Horror 
crept into Mrs. Parsons' eyes. “How dreadful !” 

“Kitty declares that the headlights of the car 
blinded her, and that she has no idea of the identity 
of the person who did the shooting. She says that 

254 


Suspicion 

she could not even tell whether it was a man or a 
woman.’’ 

Craige, sitting facing the light from the western 
window, failed to detect the faint alteration in Mrs. 
Parsons’ expression. 

‘‘How is Ted Rodgers?” she asked. “Out of dan- 
ger?” 

“I haven’t heard ; which reminds me that I am to 
meet Dr. McLean at ‘Rose Hill’ at three o’clock.” 
Craige rose. “I sincerely hope that Ted recovers — it 
will kill Kitty if anything happens to him.” 

Mrs. Parsons held out her hands and Craige 
helped her slowly to her feet. “So Ted really has 
cut out Leigh Wallace in Kitty’s affections,” she re- 
marked. 

Craige frowned. “It was nothing more than a 
flirtation between Kitty and Wallace,” he declared. 
“Her whole heart is centered on Ted.” 

“You speak with positiveness — ” Mrs. Parsons* 
laugh held a touch of malice. “Remember, women 
are fickle — ^and Leigh very attractive.” 

“I fail to understand the fascination he apparently 
has for women.” Craige’s tone was stiff. A mis- 
chievous smile touched Mrs. Parsons’ lips and her 
eyes danced. 

“Leigh was very, very smitten with Kitty,” she 
asserted, as she paused before the long gilt mirror 
and adjusted her lorgnette chain. “Do you suppose 

255 


The Cat's Paw 

it could hafe been Leigh who tried to kill Ted last 
night 

Craige stood just behind her and looking in the 
mirror she saw his face reflected over her shoulder. 
His expression of surprise gave place to doubt — to 
wonder — 

‘‘By Jove V* he exclaimed. “No, it can’t be, Cecelia. 
Leigh, whatever his faults, is the type of man who 
fights in the open.” 

“Jealousy changes a man’s nature sometimes,” she 
murmured. “Leigh has not been himself since his 
return from France.” 

“You knew him before, then?” 

Mrs. Parsons nodded. “Very slightly. It was 
Nina Potter who commented upon the change in 
him; he was an old sweetheart of hers.” 

Craige paused. “Upon my word, Cecelia,” he 
ejaculated. “How do you learn so much about 
people ?” 

She laughed aloud in her amusement. “I am ob- 
servant. I find — ” and the lines about her mouth 
hardened — “it pays to be. Will you dine with me 
to-morrow night, Charles ?” 

“Surely,” with eager haste. “And will you go to 
the theater afterward?” 

“Perhaps.” She laid her hand for the fraction of 
a second against his cheek with a caressing motion. 
256 


Suspicion 

‘'Careful, dear, James is waiting to open the door 
for you — ” and Craige perforce contented himself 
with a formal handshake as the servant came for- 
ward to the foot of the short flight of steps with his 
overcoat and hat. 

Craige was about to step into his motor when he 
became aware that the butler was at his elbow. 

“Can I have a word with you, sir ?” he asked, and 
a jerk of his thumb indicated Craige’s chauffeur. 
“In private, sir.” 

“Certainly, James.” Mystified by the butler's air 
of secretiveness Craige followed him a few steps 
down the street. When convinced that the chauf- 
feur could not overhear them, James halted. But 
they were not destined to have their interview in 
private, for as Craige stood waiting for James to ex- 
plain what he wished Inspector Mitchell stopped be- 
side them. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Craige,” he said, as he 
nodded a greeting to the butler. “Glad to see you, 
sir. Now, James, why did you send for me?” 

James rubbed his hands together and cast an ap- 
pealing look at Craige. “I had to,” he began, ad- 
dressing his remarks to him rather than to Mitchell. 
“My conscience couldn’t rest easy, sir, after I read 
the newspapers about the inquest.” 

“The inquest?” Mitchell’s eyes snapped with ex- 
257 


The Cat’s Paw 

citement. ‘‘Go on, man — you mean the Baird in- 
quest?” 

“Yes. Mr. Craige, sir, the newspapers said that 
Miss Baird was killed by poison put on a peach,” he 
spoke in nervous haste and Craige had some diffi- 
culty in catching what he said. “Nobody seemed 
to know where the peaches came from ’cording to 
the papers.” 

“No more we did,” prompted Mitchell. “Well, 
what then?” 

James licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. 
“Miss Kitty Baird goes to the market sometimes for 
Mrs. Parsons, sir. On Saturday she brought back 
some California peaches,” his voice sank even 
lower. “She called here Sunday morning, and when 
she left, the peaches wasn’t on the dining room 
table.” 

Craige stared the butler out of countenance. “Pre- 
posterous!” he exclaimed, turning red with indig- 
nation. “What are you suggesting, James?” 

“Nothing, sir, Mr. Craige. I’m just telling you 
about the peaches.” 

Craige’s face was a study of wrath and bewilder- 
ment; the former predominating. With an effort, 
he checked an oath and instead drew out some loose 
silver. 

“I am glad you spoke only to us, James,” he said. 
“Come with me, Mitchell,” and paying no attention 

258 


Suspicion 


to the inspector's protests that he wished further 
word with the butler, he hurried him toward his car. 

So occupied were both men that neither caught 
James' furtive glance at the parlor window as he 
turned to reenter Mrs. Parsons' house. 


CHAPTER XX 

THE FEET OF THE FURTIVE 

M ANDY was not happy in her mind. No 
matter how tempting the dishes she 
cooked, her t^loved ^‘Miss Kitty^^ failed 
to eat more than “jes’ scraps,’’ as Mandy ex- 
pressed it in her disgust. But Kitty’s heart as 
well as her thoughts were centered in the sickroom 
and she did not linger elsewhere. Weakened 
through loss of blood and shock, Ted Rodgers had 
lain partly conscious all through the morning, tak- 
ing no interest in his surroundings and only rousing 
when Kitty spoke to him. But even to her he ad- 
dressed no conversation, being content to hold her 
hand and gaze at her with his heart in his eyes. 

‘‘Do go and lie down. Miss Baird.” Miss Grey, 
the trained nurse, laid a sympathetic hand on Kitty’s 
shoulder. “I assure you Mr. Rodgers is better, and 
I promise to call you the moment Dr. McLean gets 
here.” 


260 


The Feet of the Furtive 


Kitty stretched her cramped muscles and looked 
at Ted. Even to her inexperienced eyes, he ap- 
peared to be resting more comfortably and his cheeks 
were a healthier color. She felt inexplicably weary ; 
her eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep and her 
head ached unmercifully. Taking care not to arouse 
Rodgers, Kitty moved away from the bedside. 

‘‘Fll be in the room,” she told Miss Gray, lower- 
ing her voice, “just across the hall, and I will 
leave my door open. If you want the slightest thing 
just call me, and I will come at once.” 

Kitty’s desire for 'Torty winks,” as her aunt had 
always termed her afternoon nap, was not to be 
gratified immediately, for as she stepped into the 
hall, Mandy came toiling up the stairs. 

“Law, ma’am. Miss Kitty!” she ejaculated. “Dis 
hyar day am gwine to be de ruination of me. I 
wish that no-count nigger, Oscar, was hyar attend- 
in’ to his work.” 

'T wish so, too!” echoed Kitty fervently. “Have 
you had word from Oscar?” 

“No, m’m.” Mandy had a habit of mumbling her 
words. “Whar’s Mrs. Potter?” 

“Fm sure I don’t know.” Kitty yawned. “In 
the library, probably.” 

“No she ain’t, neither!” Mandy’s exasperation 
was gaining the upper hand. “Thar’s been two tele- 
261 


The Cats Paw 


phone calls fo' her, an’ I ’spects Mister Ben’ll 
jump clear through his skin if she don’t come an’ 
talk to him.” 

“Is Mr. Ben on the ’phone now ?” 

“Yessim.” 

“I’ll talk to him on the branch ’phone.” Kitty 
crossed the hall. “You might see if Mrs. Potter is 
lying down in the boudoir.” 

The telephone instrument was close by the door 
and Kitty, who had earlier in the day deadened the 
sound of the bell by stuffing cotton about it, so that 
its ring might not disturb Rodgers, took off the re- 
ceiver. No masculine voice answered her low hail, 
and finally, convinced that her cousin must have 
grown tired and rung off, she hung up the receiver. 
Going over to her bed she threw herself fully 
dressed upon it, and in a few minutes her even 
breathing showed that she had fallen into the heavy 
slumber of utter exhaustion. 

Mandy, left to her own devices, wandered down 
the hall to the boudoir. It was located next to the 
bedroom which had belonged to Miss Susan Baird. 
The old colored woman cautiously poked her head 
inside the door sufficiently for to convince herself 
that the boudior was empty, then withdrew. She 
stood for some seconds before the closed door lead- 
ing into “Miss Susan’s” bedroom, but her supersti- 
tious dread kept her from entering it. Had she 
262 


The Feet of the Furtive 

done so she would have found the object of her 
search. 

Nina Potter, her ear close to the key-hole of the 
door, heard Mandy stump heavily away and drew 
a long, long breath of relief. Getting up from her 
knees, she looked about the room. It had been left 
untouched since the funeral, Mandy not having 
found courage either to dust or sweep, or, for the 
matter of that, to enter it upon any occasion what- 
ever, in spite of Kitty’s directions to put the bed- 
room in order. 

It was a large room with high ceilings and dia- 
mond-paned windows. The shades were raised 
and the afternoon sunshine fell full upon the carved 
four-post bedstead with its time-worn canopy and 
broad valance. Going over to the bureau, Nina 
tried the different drawers; they were all unlocked. 
Turning once again to convince herself that she 
really was alone in the room, she waited a second 
and then went through the bureau with neatness and 
dispatch. Her search was unproductive of result. 
Nothing daunted, she examined the old desk with 
equal thoroughness, and then turned her attention 
to the mahogany wardrobe which occupied one cor- 
ner of the room. She found that it contained noth- 
ing but clothes which a generation before had been 
fashionable. They hung on the wooden pegs, rain- 
bow hued, beribboned, and musty. Nina hastily 
263 


The Cat’s Paw 

closed the doors and turned her back on the ward- 
robe. 

The action brought her face to face with the bed- 
stead. It was the only piece of furniture in the 
room which she had not examined. With some hesi- 
tancy she walked over to it. The sheets had been 
spread neatly over the mattress, but the bolster and 
pillows had evidently been tossed in place, for they 
had assumed grotesque shapes and to her excited 
imagination it seemed as if some human form lay 
sprawled across the bed. 

Raising the sheets, she ran her hands back and 
forth over the mattress as far as she could reach. 
No rustle of papers, such as she had hoped to hear, 
resulted. Looking about, she spied the short 
wooden steps which Miss Susan Baird had used to 
mount into bed every night, and dragged them into 
place. Standing on the top step and resting her 
weight partly on the bed, Nina managed to feel the 
whole surface of the mattress. 

Finally, she straightened her aching figure and 
stood upright. She was conscious of a slight feel- 
ing of giddiness ; the next instant she had lost her 
balance and rolled to the floor. As she descended 
she threw out her hand and instinctively clutched 
the valance. It ripped away with a tearing sound, 
and when she sat up, bewildered, her eyes were on a 
level with the wooden springs of the bed. Between 
264 


The Feet of the Furtive 


turned thoughtfully away just as Leigh Wallace 
took the package from Nina Potter. 

Kitty, awakened from her sleep by Ben Potter’s 
unceremonious entrance into her bedroom, was gaz- 
ing at her cousin in utter bewilderment. 

^'What are you saying?” she demanded for the 
second time. 

‘That your revolver was found by Inspector Mit- 
chell on the floor of Ted Rodgers’ car,” repeated 
Potter. He made no attempt to modify his angry 
tones and his voice carried through the open door 
and across the hall into Ted Rodgers’ bedroom. 

“You are mad !” exclaimed Kitty. “My revolver 
is here in my desk.” Springing up she hastened to 
her antique secretary and pulled open one of the 
drawers. It was empty. 

“The revolver was here yesterday,” she cried. 

“And last night in Ted’s car,” reiterated Potter, 
with stubborn temper. “Your revolver — and one 
chamber had been recently discharged and Ted Rod- 
gers nearly killed.” 

As his words echoed across the hall Miss Gray, 
the trained nurse, closed the bedroom door and 
turned to look at her patient. With feeble strength 
he struggled upright. 

“Bring me my clothes,” Ted Rodgers gasped, as 
she hurried to his side. 


CHAPTER XXI 


MOUCHETTE, THE SEVEN-TOED 

HEN Nina Potter reentered the library a 



few minutes later she found Charles 


Craige playing with the Angora cat, 


Mouchette. With a word of greeting she moved 
over to the fire and held out her hands before the 
blaze. Craige, who had risen at sight of her, ob- 
served her effort to avoid his gaze. 

‘T feel chilled,’’ she confessed, and a shiver shook 
her from head to foot. 

‘‘You have a bad cold,” Craige remarked. “Was 
it wise to linger in the garden — ?” 

Nina, intent on her own thoughts, never noticed 
the gravity of his manner. 

“Perhaps not,” she admitted absently. “I should 
have remembered my coat. Where is Kitty?” 

“Upstairs, I imagine. Your husband went to find 
her.” 

“Ben!” Nina whirled around. “Ben — ^here?” 

“Look out, you will scorch yourself,” Craige 
stepped hastily toward her. “Don’t stand so near 
the fire.” 


270 


Mouchette, the Seven-Toed 

“I am in no danger — but Nina drew away from 
the ^replace with a paler face. “How long have you 
been in the library, Mr. Craige?” 

^‘About ten minutes.^' 

“Was Ben here with you?” 

“I found him here when I arrived. Do sit down, 
Mrs. Potter, you look utterly fagged,” and Craige 
wheeled forward a chair. As she still remained 
standing he started to remonstrate, but the words 
died on his lips as Kitty came into the room, fol- 
lowed by Ben Potter. 

“Thank heaven you are here,” she cried, running 
to her godfather's side. “You will bring Ben to his 
senses.” 

Potter walked up to them, his eyes ablaze with 
anger. “I've told her a few plain truths,” he stated. 
His truculent manner made anything but an agree- 
able impression on Craige, who viewed him with con- 
tempt. He had no use for bullies. 

“Stop shouting, Ben,” he remarked cuttingly. 
“You forget you are addressing your cousin and 
your wife.” 

Nina moved slightly to one side and looked at 
her husband. Upon his entrance she had shrunk 
behind Craige. The movement had been instinctive. 

“Why are you so excited, dear?” she asked, tim- 
idly. 

Potter avoided her gaze and addressed Craige. 

271 


The Cat’s Paw 


“rm tired of mysteries,” he declared. “First, Cousin 
Susan is murdered, brutally murdered, poor old 
lady; then my friend, Ted Rodgers, is shot while 
driving in his own car with Kitty — and Kitty's re- 
volver, with one chamber discharged, is found in the 
car. Damn it !” His teeth clenched together. “It’s 
time the police took action.” 

“We will, never worry — ” Inspector Mitchell, 
who had been an interested spectator of the scene 
from the doorway, stepped inside the library, his 
face set and stern. “Allow me to conduct this in- 
vestigation in my own way, Mr. Potter. Stand 
aside, sir.” He turned to address some one in the 
hall. “Welsh, go tell Major Wallace that he will 
find Miss Baird here and not in the parlor.” 

“Wallace!” Potter faced about. “Is he still 
hanging around here? Why don’t you throw him 
out?” 

“Major Wallace has a perfect right to come here 
if he wishes to.” Kitty spoke with warmth. “How 
dare you, Ben, dictate who shall call here and who 
shall not? This is my house.” 

“Is it?” Potter had lashed himself into a fury — 
a fury apparently intensified by the arrival of Leigh 
Wallace, for he turned and shook his fist at the 
young officer. “As your nearest of kin, Kitty, I 
insist that your aunt’s wishes be carried out and that 
you shall not receive Wallace again. She knew 
272 


Mouchette^ the Seven-Toed 


what character of man he is — and that knowledge 
was the cause of her death.” 

Craige stepped forward. ‘‘Are you aware of what 
you are saying, Ben?” he asked. “That you virtu- 
ally accuse Major Wallace of killing Miss Susan 
Baird?” 

“Sure.” Potter laughed recklessly. “Miss Baird 
had proof of his treachery — ” 

“Treachery? To whom?” Craige’s hand on 
Kitty’s shoulder warned her to be silent as he shot 
his questions at the distraught naturalist. 

“To Kitty — playing fast and loose with her affec- 
tions, and holding clandestine meetings with — ” 
Potter licked his dry mouth, while his eyes, inflamed 
with hate, rested on Wallace’s white face, “with my 
wife.” 

“You lie!” The denial rang out clearly. Only 
Inspector Mitchell’s powerful arm prevented Wal- 
lace from springing on Potter. “You d — mn 
scoundrel, to blacken your wife’s name.” 

“Stop! Stop!” Nina Potter wrung her hands. 
“You are both mad!” 

“This scene has gone far enough !” Craige spoke 
with authority. His calmness brought some comfort 
to Kitty — they were not all losing their heads! 
“Quiet, Potter. Now, Mitchell, what have you to 
say?” 

Inspector Mitchell surveyed the small circle with 

273 


The Cat's Paw 


critical eyes. He noted Nina Potter, standing white- 
faced and terror-stricken, her gaze riveted on her 
infuriated husband. Kitty, bewilderment struggling 
with dawning horror as she stared at her cousin and 
his young wife and then at Wallace, had sunk down 
on the nearest chair. Wallace, his eyes downcast, 
stood swaying on his feet. Mitchell glanced at 
Craige and pointed slightly to Wallace. It was 
plain to both men that the young officer had been 
drinking. 

‘^Suppose we sit down,^’ Mitchell indicated the 
chairs about the tea table, and taking their consent 
for granted, deliberately seated himself. With some 
hesitancy. Potter followed his example and Wallace 
did so mechanically. Nina Potter, her feet drag- 
ging as she stumbled nearer, half fell into an arm- 
chair and Craige took the vacant one by Kitty’s side. 

‘"Draw up,” Mitchell directed. *'1 will lay my 
cards on the table — and then, Mr. Potter,” as the 
naturalist started to speak, ‘‘we’ll hear what you 
have to say. Until then, keep quiet.” 

Mitchell spoke in a tone which commanded re- 
spect and Potter sullenly obeyed him. The silence 
remained unbroken for a tense moment, then the 
portieres were drawn aside and Welsh, the plain 
clothes detective, stuck his head inside the library. 

“Mrs. Parsons,” he announced, and drew back to 
let her enter. 


274 


Mouchette, the Seven-Toed 


Half way across the library the pretty widow 
paused and inspected the company assembled around 
the tea table in astonishment. 

“My dear Kitty,’’ she said, dropping her lorg- 
nette. “I stopped only for a minute,” she hesitated. 
“I fear I am de trop” and she turned to leave. 

“Not a bit of it.” Mitchell spoke so quickly that 
Kitty, who had risen, had no opportunity to answer 
Mrs. Parsons. The instinct of courtesy gained 
ascendancy over her perturbed spirit, and she offered 
her chair to the pretty widow. “Join us here, Mrs. 
Parsons,” added Mitchell. “We want your advice.” 

Mrs. Parsons’ smile was charming, but her eyes 
were keenly alert as she moved forward, searching 
each face for a clue to the scene which she felt she 
had interrupted. Not observing where she was go- 
ing, she stepped on something soft. A loud wail 
from Mouchette caused her to start convulsively, 
and the Angora cat, switching her injured tail, back 
and forth, sprang on Kitty’s vacant chair and from 
there to the tea table. 

“That cat is always under my feet, horrid beast !” 
Mrs. Parsons, conscious of appearing ridiculous, for 
Wallace had not restrained a chuckle, spoke with 
irritation. 

“Let me help you,” and Craige, who with the 
other men had risen on the widow’s entrance, as- 
sisted her in removing her wrap. 

275 


The Cat's Paw 


Mrs. Parsons presented an alluring picture in her 
chic crepe de Chine calling costume, its soft folds 
showing her graceful figure to advantage. Mrs. 
Parsons, with reason, was vain of her neck and arms 
and generally wore elbow sleeves and square cut 
neck. She was making a round of visits, and as she 
removed her long white gloves, she laid her gold 
card case and mesh bag before her on the tea table. 

Mouchette eyed them for a second and then put 
out an inquisitive paw. Mrs. Parsons promptly 
drew both bag and card case out of the cat’s reach. 
Craige, who missed nothing the widow either said 
or did, lifted Mouchette off the table and held her on 
his knee. He was aware of Mrs. Parsons’ fear of 
cats. Mouchette submitted to his petting with good 
grace and much purring, and finally curled up in his 
lap, but her yellow eyes never ceased watching Mrs. 
Parsons. 

“Is this a seance?” asked Mrs. Parsons as the 
silence continued. “If not,” her eyebrows lifted, 
“why are we sitting around this table ?” 

“We are waiting for Inspector Mitchell to, as he 
expressed it, ‘lay his cards on the table,’ ” Potter 
spoke with a sneer. “In other words, Cecelia, you 
are in at the death.” 

Mrs. Parsons’ slight start was lost on all but 
Craige. 

“Drop the melodrama, Ben,” he said. “We pre- 
276 


Mouchette, the Seven-Toed 


fer to listen to Inspector Mitchell and not to you. Go 
on, Inspector.’* 

But the Inspector was doomed to another inter- 
ruption, for as he hitched his chair closer to Nina 
Potter, the sound of footsteps in the gallery circling 
the library drew all eyes upward. With the aid of 
his nurse, Ted Rodgers was making his way down 
the gallery steps with faltering speed. 

“Don’t any one rise,” he begged, as they started 
to their feet. Kitty was the first to reach his side. 

“Ted, is this wise, dear?” she asked, making no 
attempt to conceal her anxiety. “How could you 
let him get up. Miss Gray?” 

“She couldn’t help herself.” Rodgers gently but 
firmly disengaged his hand from Kitty’s tender 
clasp. “Go and sit down, dear; I’ll take this chair.” 

Miss Gray aided him in pulling out the throne- 
shaped chair. By tacit consent the others had 
avoided sitting in it. As Rodgers sank back, the 
bandage on his head showed up plainly. Leigh Wal- 
lace transferred his gaze elsewhere. Vividly before 
him had loomed the memory of Miss Susan lying 
dead in her throne-shaped chair on Monday mom- 
ing. Rodgers’ complexion matched the dead wo- 
man’s in pallor. His exertions had made him deadly 
faint and it was some seconds before he could gather 
his strength to speak with clearness. 

“Don’t wait. Miss Gray,” he said courteously. 

277 


The Cat’s Paw 


“They will call you if I need your aid. Thank you.^’ 
Then as the nurse withdrew, he turned to Inspector 
Mitchell. “Well, what news?’' 

“Miss Baird,” Mitchell cleared his throat and 
pointed to a typewritten manuscript which he had 
lain before him on the table just as Rodgers joined 
them. “You quarreled with your aunt on Sun- 
day—” 

“We had an argument, I admit — ” Kitty rubbed 
one nervous hand over the other — they were both 
cold. 

“It was more than an argument — it was a quarrel, 
and about Major Leigh Wallace,” Mitchell’s man- 
ner was dictatorial. “Don’t contradict me, madam, 
I know.” 

“Well, what else do you know?” demanded 
Craige, losing patience. “What’s that document you 
have there, Mitchell?” 

“All in good time, sir.” Mitchell’s smile was tan- 
talizing. “You went out of here, Miss Baird, in a 
rage, because your aunt had ordered you not to 
return. Can you deny it?” 

“N— no.” 

“Stop a moment,” Craige held up his hand. “You 
are not obliged to answer these questions, Kitty, ex- 
cept in a law court. Don’t overstep your authority, 
Mitchell.” 

Mitchell’s only answer was to shrug his heavy 
278 


Mouchette, the Seven-Toed 


shoulders, and look across the table at Kitty. “Miss 
Baird,’’ he began. “You purchased some peaches 
for Mrs. Parsons on Saturday — ” 

She looked at him dumbly. Then at Mrs. Par- 
sons, who gazed back at her in silent astonishment. 
“I bought some fruit for her on Saturday,” she ad- 
mitted. “But if there were any peaches in the bas- 
ket, they were there unknown to me.” 

Mitchell smiled significantly. “Pretty thin,” he 
commented, and glanced over at Craige, before 
again addressing her. “You stopped to see Mrs. 
Parsons on Sunday morning. Miss Baird — and you 
brought those peaches home to your aunt.” 

“I did not!” Kitty’s voice rang out clearly. “I 
was at Mrs. Parsons’ for a few minutes on Sunday 
on my way from church — ” 

“With Major Wallace?” 

Kitty changed color. “Yes.” 

“And Major Wallace went into the house with 
you ?” 

Kitty paused in uncertainty and her eyes sought 
Wallace. He sat lolling back in his chair, his air of 
indifference plainly assumed as his restless fingers 
played with the catch of Mrs. Parsons’ gold mesh 
bag. 

“I went upstairs to see Mrs. Parsons,” she ex- 
plained. “I left Major Wallace standing in the 
vestibule — ” 


279 


The Cat's Paw 


“And the front door open — ” Mitchell broke in 
rudely. He turned to Mrs. Parsons. ‘'Your house 
is an English basement, with the drawing room on 
the second floor. Where is your dining room ?” 

‘^On the first floor.^’ Mrs. Parsons had been fol- 
lowing the dialogue with unwavering attention. At 
her answer Mitchell nodded his head with an air 
of triumph. 

“Pll amend my statement, Miss Baird,” he said. 
“You did not carry those peaches home to your aunt, 
but Major Wallace did — when he called here to see 
her alone on Sunday afternoon.” 

Wallace's air of indifference dropped from him 
and he swung to his feet, his hands clenched. 
“YouVe a damned liar !” he shouted. 

“Shouting won’t help matters,” Mitchell re- 
marked. “For I have the goods on you.” He tapped 
the papers in front of him. “Here is the sworn 
testimony of Mrs. Murray, who saw you enter this 
house on Sunday afternoon with a paper package 
under your arm, and when you left you carried no 
package and were so agitated that you weren’t even 
conscious of bumping into Mrs. Murray as you hur- 
ried down the street toward Washington.” 

Wallace stared at the Inspector and then at the 
others, but always his eyes passed over Nina Potter, 
sitting huddled in her chair, her eyes upraised in 
mute pleading. 


280 


Mouchette^ the Seven-Toed 

“Well/* his voice was hoarse — discordant. “What 
if I did bring some peaches to Miss Susan as a 
‘peace offering?* ** His lips twitched into a ghastly 
smile. “It doesn’t follow that I murdered her.’* 

“No — ?” Mitchell’s tone expressed incredulity. 
“That’s for the jury to decide.” He looked across 
at Kitty. “You I charge with being an accessory 
to the crime.” 

Charles Craige was the first to speak. “You 
bring a serious charge against my godchild,” he said 
sternly. “I demand your proof.” 

Mitchell turned slightly to address the man on his 
left. “How about it, Mr. Potter?” he asked. 

Potter seemed to have some difficulty in speaking, 
for a moment elapsed before he answered. 

“Kitty spent Sunday night with us,” he began. 
“I came home late, having been detained at my club, 
and was surprised to see Kitty walk out of my 
apartment house and jump into Major Wallace’s 
car — ” 

He got no further. Kitty was on her feet, her 
face scarlet. 

“You saw me?” she cried. “Me!” 

“Yes,” meeting her gaze unwaveringly. “I rec- 
ognized your red coat.” He paused, then added 
slowly, “I followed you to Georgetown and saw you 
enter this house — ” 

Kitty dropped back in her chair as if shot. Her 
281 


The Cat’s Paw 


eyes wandered from Nina Potter, sitting with head 
averted, to Wallace, who stared straight in front of 
him, and then to Ted Rodgers, who sat with closed 
eyes, his head resting against the high back of the 
throne-shaped chair. No one broke the tense silence 
and after a brief pause Mitchell spoke. 

‘'You got your aunt’s fortune. Miss Baird — and 
then you got cold feet — ” he paused dramatically. 
“There was one man who suspected you, and so you 
tried to do away with him. I found your revolver, 
with one chamber discharged in the bottom of Mr. 
Rodgers’ car — ” 

“So I have heard,” Kitty’s fighting spirit was 
coming to her aid. It had conquered her feeling of 
deadly faintness, and she faced them, white-lipped 
but with blazing eyes. “And who was with you. 
Inspector, when you made that discovery?” 

“My chauffeur and Mr. Potter.” 

“Is that so?” Kitty’s smile was peculiar as she 
glanced at her cousin. “Has it occurred to you that 
it may be manufactured evidence?” 

Mitchell looked at her in astonishment. “Are you 
accusing your cousin of lying?” 

“He is accusing me of a far more despicable 
crime,” she retorted. “Of wilfully aiding in the 
murder of my aunt, of trying to kill the man whom, 
last night, I promised to marry — ” she faced them 
proudly, her heart beating with suffocating rapidity. 

282 


Mouchette^ the Seven-Toed 


Why, why had not Ted Rodgers spoken in her de- 
fense? “Mr. Rodgers,” she went on, after an al- 
most imperceptible pause, “was shot by a person 
riding in a car which passed us when we were driv- 
ing in Rock Creek Park last night. When I left 
this house with Mr. Rodgers, my revolver was up- 
stairs in the drawer of my desk — ” Again she 
paused, finding speech difficult — ^her throat felt 
parched and dry. “Upon my return I found not only 
you waiting for me. Inspector Mitchell, but Mr. Pot- 
ter. My cousin knew where I kept my revolver; it 
was no secret. He could easily have slipped upstairs 
during the confusion of getting Mr. Rodgers to bed 
and sending for a nurse and doctor, secured my re- 
volver and, unknown to you, dropped it in Mr. 
Rodgers’ car — for the purpose of incriminating me.” 

“And Mr. Potter’s object in doing that?” ques- 
tioned Mitchell, as she came to a breathless pause. 

“Ask him — ” and Kitty pointed to her cousin, who 
had half risen, then dropped back in his chair. 
Mitchell stared at them both for a second, then faced 
the throne-shaped chair, 

“Can you tell us who shot you, Mr. Rodgers ?” he 
asked. 

Rodgers opened his eyes and faced their concen- 
trated attention. 

“Miss Baird,” he commenced, and Kitty almost 
cried out at the formality of his address, “has told 
283 


The Cat’s Paw 


you how the revolver might have been ‘planted' in 
my car to incriminate her. To be exact it was 
thrown into the car by the person who shot me, and 
with it a handkerchief." He fumbled in his pocket 
and pulled out a piece of linen, bloodstained and 
torn. “You bound my head, did you not, before you 
started to drive me home ?" turning to Kitty. 

“Yes." 

“My nurse — " Rodgers was speaking more clear- 
ly, “showed me the handkerchiefs which Dr. Mc- 
Lean had removed to put on a proper bandage," 
touching his head. “Look at that handkerchief, 
Mitchell — and tell us what you see." 

Mitchell spread out the costly linen so that all 
could view it. 

“A woman's handkerchief," he remarked. 
“There's an initial in the corner — the letter — " hold- 
ing it closer — “the letter T.' " In the utter stillness 
that followed he laid down the handkerchief. 
“ ‘P,' " he repeated musingly — “Potter.*' 

A cry escaped Nina Potter and she shrank back 
in her chair, her face buried in her hands, shaking 
from head to foot. “Not that," she gasped. “Not 
that!" 

Ted Rodgers bent forward. “ T' stands as well 
for ‘Parsons,' " he commented, and got no further. 

“Yo'se done said it!" gasped a voice behind them, 
and Oscar, perspiration trickling down his black 
284 


Mouchette^ the Seven-Toed 


face, came forward, his arm tightly clutched by 
Welsh, the plain clothes’ detective. “Dar’s de wo- 
man who done up ole Miss,” shaking his fist in Mrs. 
Parsons’ face. see’d her acreepin’ away from 
here on Monday mawnin,’ an’ — ” 

“You — ^you — Oscar!” Mrs. Parsons’ voice rose 
and cracked. Again she tried to speak in her natural 
tones — “Oscar 1” 

Kitty ciied out — a chord of memory had been 
touched — 

“It was you I heard trying to bribe Oscar!” she 
exclaimed. “You!” 

Mrs. Parsons turned with livid face to Charles 
Craige. 

“Charles — ^they — she — stop her !” She reeled 
backward and Craige, awakening from his stupor, 
flung Mouchette toward Kitty and reached forward 
to catch Mrs. Parsons as she swayed dangerously 
near the edge of her chair. 

The Angora cat, roused suddenly from her sleep, 
missed Kitty by the fraction of an inch and alighted 
in Mrs. Parsons’ lap. As the terrified woman at- 
tempted to throw her down, the cat sank her claws 
into her bare arm, tearing the delicate flesh with 
gash after gash. 

The men sprang to Mrs. Parsons’ aid, but too 
late. Her screams gave place to a gurgling cry and 
she sank back a dead weight. Mitchell, kneeling by 
285 


The Cat's Paw 


her side, stared at her convulsed features in horror 
as his hand went to her wrist. 

God ! She’s dead !” he gasped in awe. His 
glance traveled downward. ‘'Look — look at the 
cat !” His shaking finger pointed to where Mouch- 
ette sat licking first one paw and then the other. 
A streak of blood was flowing from where she had 
gashed herself in her fury. Suddenly they saw the 
cat stiffen, throw back her head convulsively, roll 
over and lie still. 

A clicking sound caused Inspector Mitchell to 
whirl around in time to see a pair of handcuffs dang- 
ling from Charles Craige’s wrists. 

“What — what?” he gasped. 

“Charles Craige — murderer of Miss Susan 
Baird,” explained Rodgers. “Don’t move,” and a 
revolver rested dangerously near Craige’s heart. 
“Open your hand.” The command was accompanied 
by a threatening movement of the revolver. 

Slowly, very slowly Craige did as he was told. 
A small rubber bulb syringe dropped to the floor. 

“Don’t touch it,” Rodgers cried sharply, as Mit- 
chell bent down. “It is filled with the poison which 
Craige sprayed on the cat’s paw — and thus killed 
Cecelia Parsons, his fiancee.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


GREED 


HARLES CRAIGE sat staring into va- 



cancy, while beads of perspiration trickled 


down his ghastly face. Several drops 
slipped into his eyes and half blinded him. Raising 
his hands he brushed them away. The action 
brought the handcuffs encircling his wrists into 
view. He regarded them apathetically, then his 
uncomprehending gaze traveled over the horror- 
stricken men and women grouped about his chair. 
It was not until he saw Kitty Baird that the situa- 
tion dawned upon him. Before the others suspected 
his intention, he sprang at her, his manacled hands 
upraised to strike. The blow was turned aside by 
Inspector Mitchell, who darted to Kitty’s assistance. 

''Hold him down in that chair, Welsh,” he direct- 
ed as the detective came to his aid. Rodgers, 
whose false strength had departed, dropped into the 
nearest chair, the revolver hanging useless in his 
grasp. His shot, as Craige sprang forward, had 
gone wild. Kitty was by his side in an instant. 


287 


The Cat's Paw 


‘‘Fm all right,” he panted, as she bent over him. 
‘‘Don’t worry, my darling. Now, Craige, what 
have you to say?” 

“Say?” Craige was winded from his exertions 
and spoke with difficulty. “Why should I say any- 
thing?” 

“Because the game’s up,” Mitchell stated, and 
stepped aside so that Craige had a clear view of 
Cecelia Parsons. “Why did you kill that woman?” 

“I did not mean to kill Cecelia,” Craige shouted. 
“God knows I did not.” His bloodshot eyes again 
sought Kitty. “I threw the cat at you. Cecelia 
called to me to stop you — ” 

^‘Ah, so Mrs. Parsons aided you in your murder 
of Miss Susan Baird,” broke in Mitchell. 

“She did not.” Craige, his tongue unloosened, 
spoke in desperate haste, his words tripping over 
one another. It seemed almost as if he gained cour- 
age from the sound of his own voice. “Miss Susan 
Baird was warned — but she would not listen to me.” 

“Why did you kill my aunt?” demanded Kitty, 
indignation for the moment mastering her horror. 
“She was always kind to you. She trusted you.” 

“Trust? It was greed which prompted her friend- 
ship.” Craige laughed harshly, jeeringly. “It was 
by my aid that she made her fortune. Do you know 
288 


Greed 

what she was — your aristocratic aunt — a money- 
lender 

Kitty stared at him — appalled. '‘It can’t be,” she 
cried, and turned appealingly to Ted Rodgers. 
“Make him tell the truth.” 

“I am speaking the truth,” Craige retorted. 
“Many’s the person I’ve brought over here when 
you, Kitty, were not around, and your aunt has 
admitted us at that side door. She charged high 
rates of interest, but no one gave her away. She 
was square with them.” 

“Were you square with her?” asked Rodgers 
quietly, and a dull red suffused Craige’s white face. 

“When I had to borrow, she treated me like the 
others,” he answered. “The fact that I helped her 
amass a fortune cut no ice. I got deeper and deeper 
in debt, and then — ” his voice changed. “I had to 
have money, so I told her I wanted to marry you.” 

Kitty retreated, aghast. “Marry me? You!'* 

“Yes,” coolly. “I am only fifty-four; there is not 
such a difference in our ages. I saw your aunt on 
Sunday about six o’clock. She laughed at me and 
refused to consent to our marriage.” Beads of per- 
spiration had again gathered on his forehead, but he 
went steadily on with his story, oblivious apparently 
of the abhorrance with which his companions were 
regarding him. “I had forged Miss Susan Baird’s 
name in my desperation last week. I knew that if 
289 


The Cat's Paw 


Kitty and I were married quickly, she would keep 
quiet about the forgery for her family’s sake. When 
she laughed my plan to scorn, I realized there was 
only one thing to do — to kill her.” 

“How did you go about it ?” «sked Mitchell. 

It was some seconds before Craige answered. “I 
went prepared for failure,” he admitted. “I could 
not face ruin — ^perhaps the penitentiary for forgery. 
My father was a famous expert in toxicology and,” 
he moistened his lips — “I often worked in his 
laboratory,” with a side glance at the bulb syringe 
still lying where it had fallen on the floor. “I at 
first planned to squeeze some poison in her tea cup, 
but got no chance. Then Miss Baird asked me to 
peel a peach for her. I don’t know where the 
peaches came from, but there were three in a dish on 
the table. Before cutting the peach in two, I sprayed 
some hydrocyanic acid on the knife blade when Miss 
Baird was not looking, holding the knife just over 
the edge of the table and the bulb in my left hand, 
out of sight in my lap.” 

“It was devilishly ingenious,” commented Mitch- 
ell. “Well, did you steal the forged paper after 
killing the old lady?” 

“No.” Craige looked at Kitty with a faint sneer. 
“It was among those canceled checks from the bank 
which you so obligingly left in your desk yesterday 
290 


Greed 

alongside your revolver. I stole them both last 
night.” 

“Last night?” Kitty looked at him in astonish- 
ment. “Why, v^e found you at home last night, Ted 
and 1. We telephoned you first that we were com- 
ing and — ” 

“I answered the ’phone ; quite so.” Craige’s smile 
was peculiar. “My butler, Lambert, is well trained 
and,” with emphasis, “well paid. He is quick at 
recognizing the voices of my intimate friends. I 
happened to be in Washington in my, eh, town 
apartment,” with a sidelong look at Kitty. “From 
there I have a direct wire to my switchboard in my 
house, and Lambert plugged in your call. You 
thought you were talking to me at ‘Hideaway,’ Rod- 
gers, whereas I wasn’t six blocks away from here. 

“I told Lambert to take care of you until I got 
home, then hurried over here. I have a key to the 
side door. It took but an instant to slip upstairs 
to your room and to go through your desk. Mandy 
never woke up, but that infernal cat,” with a vin- 
dictive snarl. “I wish I had strangled her. When 
I got back to ‘Hideaway,’ I found you and Kitty so 
engaged with each other that I knew you never real- 
ized the time I took to appear.” 

“So that was it!” Rodgers drew a long breath. 
“And you followed us and tried to shoot me in the 
Park!” 


291 


The Cat's Paw 


“Yes.’’ Craige favored him with a scowl. “I 
got word yesterday that you were wise to the kind 
of life I was leading — you knew too much. I de- 
tected you watching me last night. If Kitty had not 
swerved her car when she did, I’d have potted you, 
for I’m a crack shot as a general thing.” 

“And did you throw the revolver into the car as 
you dashed by?” asked Kitty. 

“Yes. I had tied a handkerchief loosely about 
the butt of the revolver so as not to leave finger 
prints,” Craige added. “It was clever of you, Rod- 
gers, to trace the handkerchief as you did. In my 
haste that night, I never noticed that I had one of 
Cecelia’s handkerchiefs in my pocket and none of my 
own.” He paused, his voice had grown husky. 
“Well, that clears up the mystery.” 

“All but Mrs. Parsons’ part in it,” broke in Rod- 
gers. “Where did she come in, Craige?” 

Craige’s color mounted, then receded, leaving him 
deadly white. 

“She cut a big splurge here,” he began, “and soon 
went through her money. She found out about 
Miss Baird and came here early Monday morning, 
knowing that Kitty was spending the night with her 
cousins, hoping to borrow from Susan. She found 
the front door open, so she told me, and walked in. 
When she discovered Miss Baird lying dead in the 
library, she bolted home and called up the police.” 

292 


Greed 

‘‘And why did she try to bribe Oscar ?” demanded 
Kitty. 

“She wanted some papers to prove that your aunt 
was a money-lender/’ Craige twisted about, his 
growing uneasiness plainly indicated by his avoid- 
ance of their gaze. 

“In other words,” cut in Mitchell. “Mrs. Par- 
sons hoped to blackmail Miss Kitty Baird by threat- 
ening to expose her aunt’s career.” 

Craige nodded sullenly. “Something like that,” 
he admitted. 

Rodgers had not taken his eyes from him. “Did 
Mrs. Parsons know that you wished to marry 
Kitty?” he asked. 

Craige shifted his feet about. “No,” he mut- 
tered. 

“Did she know that you killed Miss Susan 
Baird?” Rodgers was persistent in his questioning. 

“I’m not sure,” Craige glanced up at him quickly, 
then dropped his eyes. The sight of his handcuffs 
sent a shiver down his spine and he again shifted his 
gaze. 

“Mrs. Parsons done picked up dat ar’ rubber ball 
befo’ she left on Monday mawnin’,” volunteered 
Oscar. The old man had been a fascinated witness 
of all that transpired; his face, gray from fright at 
the death of Cecelia Parsons, had regained its nor- 

293 


The Cafs Paw 

mal hue somewhat, but his eyes still bulged from 
his head. 

‘*She did!^* A startled look crept into Craige’s 
ever-shifting eyes. “Why, I found the cat playing 
with the syringe when I first entered this room. I 
knew that I had dropped it on Sunday, probably 
when I reentered the library after Susan Baird 
screamed.’" A shudder shook him, in spite of his 
iron self-control. “Seeing it here this afternoon, I 
supposed it had rolled in some comer, and been over- 
looked. I judged that the cat had selected it as a 
plaything.” 

“It’s a wonder the cat didn’t poison herself,” com- 
mented Mitchell. 

Craige’s face was distorted into what he meant 
for a smile. “There wasn’t a drop of poison left in 
the syringe,” he said. “I considered finding it a 
direct act of Providence, for I expected trouble of 
some kind, and brought with me a small phial of a 
concentrated solution of crotalidae — 

“What’s that?” asked Mitchell. 

“Snake venom, and deadly when introduced into 
the blood,” explained Craige. “It’s sometimes used 
in drugs given by homoeopathists. During the few 
minutes I was alone in the library I put the poison 
in the syringe.” 

“But if Mrs. Parsons carried away the syringe on 
294 


Greed 

Monday morning, how did it get back in this library 
to-day?” asked Kitty. 

‘*She probably guessed that it was used to kill 
Miss Susan Baird in some way, and brought it back 
to incriminate Miss Kitty Baird,” declared Mit- 
chell. “Mrs. Parsons was as clever as they make 
them, but she overreached herself when she tried to 
involve you, Mr. Rodgers. I kept the wires to San 
Francisco hot until I found out that the papers she 
produced to prove that you were involved in the 
Holt will forgery were ones found in Gentleman 
Jake’s house, when he and his confederates were 
trying to forge Holt’s will.” He turned to Craige. 
“Did you put Mrs. Parsons up to that deviltry, Mr. 
Craige?” 

Craige ignored the question and Potter broke his 
long silence. 

“I imagine he did,” he said. “Mrs. Parsons was 
the divorced wife of Gentleman Jake, and later she 
married Amos Parsons. He left some property and 
she came east. She’d have lived straight, Craige, if 
it hadn’t been for you.” 

“Craige,” Mitchell’s harsh voice made the lawyer 
turn with a nervous jump. “Did you conceal that 
small bottle of prussic acid in the ivory dice cup ?” 

“Yes,” sullenly, then with a venomous glance at 
Kitty. '‘I hoped to involve you.” 

295 


The Cat’s Paw 


“You yellow devil!” Ted Rodgers rose and 
stepped toward him, but Mitchell intervened. 

“The law will deal with him, Mr. Rodgers ; stand 
back. Sir. Now, Craige, come on — ” and, at a sign, 
Welsh, the detective, took his place by the lawyer. 

Twice Craige tried to get upon his feet, only to 
sway back into his seat. He had aged in the past 
hour, and when he finally stood upright his shoulders 
sagged forward and his trembling knees seemed 
unable to support him. 

“Catch him on the other side, Welsh,” Mitchell 
directed. “Mr. Potter, please telephone to Coroner 
Penfield.” With a jerk of his head he indicated the 
prone figure behind them. “Mrs. Parsons cannot be 
moved until he gets here. Come, Craige.” 

Craige moved forward a few hesitating steps and 
then halted. An irresistible attraction which he 
could not conquer drew his eyes toward Cecelia Par- 
sons. Whatever emotion he felt he controlled ad- 
mirably. He stood for a moment motionless, then, 
without glancing to right or left, he squared his 
shoulders and swinging around strode arrogantly 
from the library, the two men on either side walking 
rapidly to keep up with him. 

The silence in the library grew oppressive and 
Kitty was conscious of a feeling almost of nausea 
when Nina Potter came toward her. 

“Kitty,” she said brokenly. “I did you a very 
296 


Greed 


great wrong when I wore your red coat to come here 
on Sunday night with Leigh.” 

‘'Did you not do your husband a greater wrong?” 
Kitty asked swiftly. 

"No.” Nina flushed scarlet. "I am a coward, 
but I am a loyal wife.” 

"I am entirely to blame,” Leigh Wallace turned 
and addressed Potter directly. "I was once engaged 
to your wife. We quarreled and she broke it off. 
I never saw or heard from her again until we met 
this winter. Nina would not let me pay her any 
attention, so, forgive me, Kitty, I went with you 
because I could be with Nina without arousing talk,” 
he hesitated. 

No one spoke, and, after an instant’s pause, Wal- 
lace continued : 

"On Saturday night Oscar brought me a note 
from Miss Susan Baird asking me to come here 
on Sunday at five o’clock. I did take the peaches 
from Mrs. Parsons’ table on a silly impulse, for I 
knew Miss Baird was fond of them and thought that 
I could placate her with a gift. 

"When I got here she told me how my father had 
jilted her and of her hatred of me. She declared 
that she had secured, through bribing one of Nina’s 
servants, some old love letters of mine — they were 
undated, and she proposed showing them to Ben 
Potter. I tried in every way to induce her to return 
297 


The Cat’s Paw 


them to me, even offering a large sum of money. 
She ordered me out of the house,'' he paused. ‘Then 
I went to Nina and asked her to see Miss Baird and 
try to get her to give up the letters." 

“So I came over here with Leigh on Sunday 
night," Nina Potter took up the story. “Miss Susan 
had loaned me your red coat, Kitty, last Wednesday 
to wear home when it blew up so cold. The coat is 
distinctive in appearance, and — well — " she faltered 
— “I knew if any one saw me, there was a chance I 
might be mistaken for you. Afterwards I got rid 
of the coat by selling it to a second-hand dealer." 
She caught her husband's averted gaze and colored 
painfully. 

“Leigh left me at the side door of ‘Rose Hill,' " 
she added. “I entered the library — saw Miss Susan 
sitting there — dead — " she covered her eyes with 
her hand as if to shut out some terrifying vision and 
a shudder shook her. “I must have fainted, for it 
was late when I stole out of the house. I left by the 
front door, and in my terror I put the big key in the 
lock on the outside with some idea of locking poor 
Miss Susan in the house. I heard an automobile 
coming and ran away, forgetting to turn the key in 
the lock after all. When I got home I found Ben 
had not gotten in and that you were still asleep, 
Kitty — so — " she faltered again and glanced appeal- 
ingly at her husband. 


298 


Greed 


Potter stirred uneasily. ‘‘I drove around a bit/^ 
he said. “Kitty, as I thought, coming over here at 
that time of night with Wallace troubled me, and I 
wanted time to think things over. When I heard of 
Cousin Susan's murder — ^well, I — well, I kept silent 
until my jealousy of Wallace drove me to try and 
implicate Kitty and him in the crime. 

“I saw you, Ted," he turned to Rodgers, “come 
out of a second-hand clothing store on Pennsylvania 
Avenue with Kitty's coat on your arm. The dealer 
told me that you had just paid twenty dollars for it. 
I decided that if the coat was worth that to you, it 
might be worth double the money to me ; so I bribed 
the dealer to buy the coat back from you. When 
that scheme failed, I went to your apartment — " 
“Where you failed again," broke in Rodgers. 
“Your coat was accidently burned up, Kitty, all 
except one pocket. In that pocket I found the clue 
which gave the the first inkling that Charles Craige 
might have murdered your aunt — " 

“What was it?" demanded Kitty breathlessly. 
“An T.O.U.,' which your aunt must have slipped 
inside the coat pocket and forgotten. The signature 
was obliterated, but I recognized Craige's handwri- 
ing," Rodgers explained. “It showed me that Craige 
was under heavy financial obligations to Miss Susan 
Baird while all the time he protested absolute ignor- 
299 


The Cat's Paw 


ance of her wealth. I immediately started to inves- 
tigate Craige's career, and it was that investigation, 
as he said a few minutes ago, which forced his hand 
last night — ” 

‘‘And he nearly killed you!^’ Kitty^s eyes were 
shining as she faced her lover. “You endangered 
your life for me — 

Regardless of the others* presence Rodgers drew 
her to his side. 

“Sweetheart,** he murmured. “Sweetheart — ** 

“Ahem!** Ben Potter cleared his throat, and 
faced the others. 

“Did you get your letters, Nina ?** he asked, turn- 
ing to his wife. 

“Not then, only this afternoon,** she explained. 
“I found them in a box under the mattress of Miss 
Susan*s bed. Mrs. Parsons suspected that I was 
searching for something, for yesterday she told me 
that for a considerable sum of money she would aid 
me.’* 

“That woman was a fiend incarnate !** ejaculated 
Rodgers. 

“She sho’ly was, Sah,** agreed Oscar. “She done 
her bes* to make me tell de police that ole Miss let 
people have money. Yo* see. Miss Kitty, ole Miss 
had me to help her, an* I promised never to tell, an* 
I never broke my promise, never.” 

300 


Greed 


“Oscar !” Kitty’s eyes were dim with tears as she 
laid her hand on the faithful servant’s shoulder. 
“Where did you disappear yesterday?” 

“Jes’ went down to my rooms an’ laid low,’^ 
promptly. “Mandy an’ me thought things were get- 
tin’ kinda critical ’round hyar. Las’ night I heered 
yo’ an’ Mister Rodgers a-plannin’ to see Mister 
Craige, an’ then I went home again, scared stiff.” 

“Wait, Oscar — ” Rodgers interrupted him quick- 
ly. “Why did you ask me to find Miss Kitty’s red 
coat?” 

“I seen some one a-wearin’ dat coat enter dis 
house as I was passin’ along de street late Sunday 
night,” the negro explained. “I couldn’t swear it 
warn’t yo’, Miss Kitty, an’ I couldn’t swear it were ; 
but I calculated dat whoever t’was might a lef’ some- 
thin’ in de coat pockets to tell on them.” 

“It was a clever thought,” exclaimed Rodgers. 
“But it would have been better had you taken me 
entirely into your confidence, Oscar.” 

“Yessir.” But Oscar looked doubtful. “I was 
mighty concarned ’bout Miss Kitty, ’deed I was, 
Sah. It warn’t ’till jes’ a spell back that that detec- 
ertif man. Mister Welsh, who tried to find me in 
Front Royal an’ at las’ found me to home, ’splained 
to me I had orter be hyar wif yo’, Honey, Miss 
Kitty, so then I corned round wif him.” 

301 


The Cat’s Paw 


Leigh Wallace heard the old rnan to the end, then 
stared moodily across the library. He started for 
the doorway and turned around. 

*Twe destroyed your letters, Nina,’’ he said. ‘1, 
forgive me, I feared that you had killed Miss Susan 
Baird on Sunday night. That was why I was so 
overcome when the crime was discovered. Mr. 
Potter,” he spoke with deep feeling. ‘‘Your wife 
loves you devotedly. I am but a forgotten incident 
in her life. I received my orders for foreign service 
to-day. Good-by.” He clicked his heels together 
and with a bow which included all in the library, 
turned and strode from the room. 

At sound of the front door closing. Potter stepped 
forward. He was oblivious of any one’s presence 
but his wife. 

“Nina, can you forgive me?” he asked humbly. 
“I have acted the part of a jealous fool.” 

Nina’s answer was not in words. With a face in 
which joy obliterated the shadow of the past few 
days, she slipped her arm within his and he led her 
from the room. 

“Doan yo’ wait hyar, Miss Kitty — ” Oscar came 
forward a pace. “Jes’ you an’ Mister Rodgers go 
right along. I’ll stay wid dis — ” and he nodded 
significantly at Rodgers. The latter turned to take 
a last survey of the library. Not far from Cecelia 
302 


Greed 

Parsons lay a small furry body — both were rigid 
in death. 

‘'Come, sweetheart — ’’ Rodgers slipped his arm 
around Kitty and they walked toward the drawing 
room. Once there Kitty gave way to the grief con- 
suming her. 

“Poor Aunt Susan — ^how could Charles Craige 
have had the heart to kill her !” she exclaimed. “He 
was her trusted friend.” 

“He was a man of masks,” Rodgers said gravely. 
“A man of character, well educated, a social favorite 
and a brilliant lawyer, but heredity proved too 
strong for him.” And as Kitty looked at him in 
question, he added, '^Were you not aware that his 
father died insane?” 

Kitty shook her head. “I never knew it,” she 
said. “How dreadful! The whole affair — Aunt 
Susan’s death — ^her life, oh, Ted, her life!” 

“Hush!” Rodgers laid his finger gently on her 
lips. “Let us forget the tragedy in our happiness.” 

Glancing shyly upward, Kitty read the worship in 
his eyes and her rapidly beating heart sang a glad 
response. 

“All my life I have prayed for love,” she mur- 
mured as he took her in his arms ; “even when I was 
only a little lonely child — and now to feel such hap- 

303 


The Cafs Paw 

piness as I never even imagined. To have you with 
me always — 

‘Tn our Kingdom of Love” — Rodgers’ tender, 
caressing voice was melody in her ears — “My queen 
— my queen !” 


THE END 


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